


Black Butterfly

by TheDemonOfSloth



Series: Because We're All Equal in Hell [1]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Reincarnation, Unrequited Love, akira doesnt catch a break here, happiness? dont know her, minor appearances of p3 and 4 velvet attendants, shit goes down after part 1 lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 10:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18008963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDemonOfSloth/pseuds/TheDemonOfSloth
Summary: What do you consider to be the most important to you?Akira has been loyal to Mementos for his whole life.Now aged one hundred and thirty and a freshly graduated Spirit, he is sent to the human world along with his partner for patrols. They’re forbidden to ever interact with humans, but that doesn’t stop him from doing so anyway.But as he continues to indulge his curiosity, he finds himself in peril, with a forbidden feeling beginning to take root in his heart.Akira must fight for his happiness (his selfishness), even if it means betraying everything he has ever known.





	1. part 1

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god im actually done, i actually fucking did it  
> anyways this is my fic for the p5bb! i really hate and love this fic im so conflicted.
> 
> (lots of ppl to thank, bls bear with me)  
> first and foremost to [fist](https://atomicpanda101art.tumblr.com/post/183145888546/here-is-my-piece-for-the-p5-big-bang-it-was-a-lot) and [king flung](https://tiredstarr.tumblr.com/post/183225002341/i-did-2-parts-in-the-p5-big-bang-and-this-is), myartists that tolerated my bs for months. ive linked their pieces, go check it out!
> 
> secondly, many thanks to[estelle](https://tiredstarr.tumblr.com/post/183225002341/i-did-2-parts-in-the-p5-big-bang-and-this-is), my beta for also dealing with my lazy ass as i decided to procrastinate till the final check in and pulled all nighters just to finish writing the fic. 
> 
> thirdly due to time constraints, some ideas have been changed so i could finish the fic on time. But because of this I'm going to be expanding on the other characters and endings that I've planned for this in a separate work. I'm super excited to expand upon this universe and add in p3 and 4 characters later on.
> 
> lastly, thanks to the mods of the p5 bb who've made this event possible! without bb this fic would've rotten in my gdocs lol

“Will you go, no matter what?”

Not even the shadow of the boy’s usual cocky demeanour shows in his expression.

She presses a finger to her bottom lip. “What do you think of this world?”

The spirit that took the appearance of a young boy suddenly let out a laugh that isn’t humorous or woeful. Seeing his smile, she can’t help but feel a pang of melancholy.

“What I think? Spirits have their own world, and humans have theirs. I don’t know humans that well as I like to think I do, but I think that it’s beautiful, and the same time so cruel.

She tilts her head. She isn’t shocked at his desecration towards God, instead she finds herself curious. “The very being that you’ve sworn your eternal servitude for? Cruel?

“Life is a precious and beautiful thing, an ability that only God possesses. Yet He taints His creations with this.. _filth._ It’s so disgusting, yet I can’t help myself craving for more.” He looks at her straight at the eye with a slightly crooked smile, and the heaviness of his heart seems to fill the air.

Looking down at her shuffled cards, she pinches a handful of cards and sets it aside. She then picks out a card from the remaining stack and laid it in front of her.

She flips it over. _Fool._

“This branch will lead to nothing but ruin. I can see white. So much... white, it blinds me.” She looks at him, squinting her eyes. “Are you still sure about this?”

The boy seems unfazed by her ominous reading. “I _will,_ even if I were to damn this entire world. At this point I can’t bring myself to care anymore.”

He says it with so much confidence. She doesn't know if she should be scared or impressed.

“I see… If this is what you truly wish for, then I shall not stop you. I wish the both of you happiness in whatever branch you end up in.”

The spirit stands up and prepares to leave, but not before turning around and asking a final question that would leave her pondering, even after the boy is gone and the world is drenched in nothing but white.

“What do you consider to be the most important to you?”

“Nothing. I have no home, no family, no friends or lover. I don’t even remember my real name, or why I’m tasked with this job.”

“Then why do you do it when you don’t know the reason behind it?”

She smiles, or at least she thinks she did. “I have never been able to speak directly to the cards, but sometimes I like to think that I’m able to. I don’t know my origins or the reasons behind my job, but sometimes I like to think that I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _In the beginning, God created His servants, the Spirits._
> 
> _They descended from the heavens to retaliate against the shadows when they invaded the land from the depths of Tartarus._
> 
> _After many large scale descents upon the enemy, His servants were able to repel the invaders--however only temporary--for a thousand years._
> 
> _His servants, His ultimate weapon, continue to fight to break the stalemate and end the war once and for all._
> 
>  
> 
> _Bless our Lord, hath o our souls_
> 
>  
> 
> -Audio Book of the Weiss Fairytale, <<Yaldabaoth>>
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

 

“Are you even listening?!”

Truthfully, only partly. Akira doesn’t even need to look at Caroline to know that she’s seething with controlled rage and her face morphing into a perpetual scowl.

“I’m listening.”

“Don’t give me that attitude, freshie! Do you really want to fail your first mission?” There was a stomp of boot against carpeted floor.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then please pay attention to the briefing. We will not tolerate failure due to your inability to follow simple instructions.” Caroline’s apathetic twin, Justine spoke. Her empty eyes gaze into his. Sometimes he wonders if she is a doll, or a reanimated corpse.

Igor, seated at the desk in the centre of the room, let out a throaty chuckle and raises a gloved hand. “In any case, there’s no mistake in the report I was given. What threatens the faith towards us, and is spreading darkness little by little in humans, is the Shadow faith originating in Rostrea.

“You and your partner will be given the responsibility of surveying the Shadow faith in that region and subduing the Shadows there. I assume the both of you have no objection to this?”

“No problem, chief!” Futaba responds with a clumsy salute. Caroline yells at her for not saluting correctly, only to be silenced by Igor’s raised hand.

“Allow me to give you two a piece of advice.” Justine looks down at her clipboard and begins to flip the yellowed pages. “Not all battles can be won by raw power alone. It is best to not be deceived by lowly humans.”

Akira nods, but he takes her advice with a grain of salt. While most, if not all Spirits hold extremists views, having a collective thinking that humans are lower life forms and are meant to be protected by them, he himself held a neutral standpoint. From what he is told, it is a vital system that helps strengthen leadership and loyalty towards God.

They are dismissed, and the duo made their way towards the bunker to prepare, to join the perfectly synchronised steps of their comrades walking through the wide hallway.

 

_As a soldier, I must be obedient. As a soldier, I must be loyal. As a soldier, I must be fearless._

 

The familiar robotic voice of the intercom spills down the walls and crawls along the floor, searching for a receptive ear. Futaba opens her SNS, giggling as she opens an attached image of someone tripping over a rock. Leaning closer to get a better view, Akira realises that the unfortunate spirit on the screen was Yusuke.

“Serves him right for walking while sketching.” She snickers, closing the picture before hurriedly typing out a reply.

Akira reaches for his P.A.D., the blue light emitting from the screen is bright, yet not overpowering. He sends a text to Ann whilst whispering to the screen, ‘going on my first mission soon, kinda nervous tbh.’ A shiver of satisfaction runs through him as the the three dots next to her icon appears, signalling that she is typing.

 

_[ID #1122] dont worry! futabas a gr8 partner! Youll be fineeeeee :happy:_

_[ID #1120] thats true, i shouldnt be doubting her, or myself_

_[ID #1122] for a second i was wondering what happened to the real akira_

_[ID #1120] wat_

_[ID #1122] youre always so confident and stuff!_

_[ID #1122] never thought id see the day where akira chickens out!_

_[ID #1120] :unamused:_

_[ID #1120] no im not_

_[ID #1120] i just dont want to disappoint sae_

_[ID #1122] :joy:_

 

Shaking his head, Akira puts his P.A.D away.

Spirits usually work in pairs, with partners assigned based on how well their skills complement each other. No matter how skilled an individual may be, they are not permitted to work alone. This was an order that had to be respected, just like every single rule in Mementos. This is what all spirits have ingrained in their minds since day one.

 

_As a soldier, I must be obedient._

 

Yet, the rebellious and free spirited boy had little regards for the strict laws. His personality hadn’t changed much from the moment he was born; cheeky and audacious. Though his rebellious nature is frowned upon in the dogmatic system, constantly being on the receiving end of unwanted criticism, insults, and one death threat by one of the Disciples, though he is not sure if he was jesting.

Next to him, Futaba is bouncing in unfiltered excitement. “We’re going to the human world huh? I can’t wait!” She rubs her hands together, a wide grin on her face and a mischievous glint in her eye. “You think I can pull a prank on a human while I’m at it?”

“We’re not supposed to interact with the human world unless necessary.” Akira states as a matter of fact, like a rule book.

“Geez, I thought you weren’t  the most law abiding person.”

“I just don’t want us to end up in Quarantine.”

A shiver runs up Futaba’s spine and her entire body shakes. “You’re no fun. But yeah, I agree with you, I don’t want to end up there.”

 

* * *

 

Rostrea. An agricultural country, home to numerous lakes, farming villages and indigenous wildlife, its fertile soil has lead to many successive years of bountiful harvest. Its cities are dotted with historical places of worship. It is best known for its gorgeous flora and fauna, with its national flower being the Weeping Lily.

Whilst a beautiful land, it has a long, bloody history of religious wars and witch hunts. The many different denominations within the Gnostic faith had a falling out, which lead to the Great Holy War that all but annihilated hundreds of thousands of people, leaving behind the two remaining sects, the Yaldabaoth sect and the Satanael sect. While other faiths are not openly prosecuted years after the war, the Satanael sect faced discrimination due to supposed belief in demon worship.

The Kingdom of Rostrea, along with the Kingdom of Altus to the north and the Kingdom of Vertmill to the east, made up the Metaverse region, which the Sixth Unit, led by Disciple Sae, was responsible for in Mementos.

Due to the Yaldabaoth faith being the strongest in the Metaverse region, the well being of the land was entrusted to the most powerful and capable spirits. Sae's unit had been shouldering this responsibility for at least a hundred years prior.

However, century old tensions have begun to arise again. Internal faction wars between those in power continue to go on fiercer than before, and the threat of a thirty seventh Shadow War was looming over the horizon. The job of Sae’s unit was to conduct investigation on the lives of humans, and if necessary, intervene.

 

* * *

 

Being in a prestigious unit doesn’t come without its own set of problems (unfortunately).

With Sae’s unit holding a track record of mission success rates over ninety nine percent, The Disciples harbour high expectations for the two freshly graduated Fighters. He remembers Sae looking at him straight in the eye and telling him with a cutthroat tone that there was no room for failure; anything less would tarnish the hard earned reputation of her unit.

Fair enough. Akira doesn’t like doing things half heartedly either.

A strong gust of icy wind tousles his curls, making his hair messier than it usually is. He rakes his fingers through the black mop of hair, only for another gust of wind to mess it up again.

Rostrea has a cool climate all year round. Even so, he still feels that the weather was still too hot.

Investigate the Shadow faith that has infiltrated the Elfdell churches, find their hiding places and eliminate the Shadows. On the surface, the mission outline seems linear and straightforward enough. However, it seems that the situation is more complex than it sounds.  
  
Usually, Shadows would target the weak of heart, amplifying their twisted desires and corrupting them, thus gaining dark power. The harvesting of dark power from an individual’s heart are staged in four broad groups. The first stage is a Shadow latching itself on a selected target, and the second stage being the tedious process of corrupting them and harvesting dark power. When it reaches the third stage, the victim would suffer a psychotic breakdown, pushing their mental state to maximum overdrive, causing them to do things that they would usually never do (such as committing arson and going on a murder rampage, all with a deranged expression on their faces, according to the reports) and lose their memory of their actions after they recover. The fourth stage results in a mental shutdown, which does as the name suggests. At that stage, the victim is too far gone and most recorded cases resulted in death.  
  
This time, the Shadows have begun targeting devout individuals with strong hearts. Strong hearts had strong wills, making them much harder to corrupt. Why would they purposefully choose difficult targets when there were plenty more fish in the sea? This is an issue that needs to be investigated, which led to Akira and Futaba conducting surveillance in the Elfdell churches.  
  
After an hour’s worth of not catching any sightings of Shadows, they decide to split up to cover more ground, and alert the other when either one manages to find a lead. As of now, Akira has yet to find anything particularly useful, so he decides to take a break.

Seating himself on a sturdy branch of a tree, he opens his P.A.D and began swiping mindlessly at the sea of posts on the Megami Tensei homepage. He doesn’t bother to stop and read any of them--he only scrolls on his P.A.D to make himself look occupied and not look bored out of his mind--and closes it with a frustrated sigh.

The lack of progress they are making is infuriating. Hopefully Futaba isn’t sneaking in an episode of Featherman on the job.

Just as he is about to move on to the next church, he suddenly hears a scream.  
He summons Arsene, ready for a confrontation with a Shadow. Just right outside at the entrance to the church are a group of men swinging weapons at each other. It seems that the men that had gotten into an argument earlier were now attempting to kill each other.  
  
“Is this the work of a Shadow? A psychotic breakdown?”  
  
Arsene let out a low rumble of disagreement. “No, there seems to be no signs of dark energy from them.”

The symptoms of psychotic breakdowns typically include eyes rolled to the back of the skull, loss of reasoning and disorientated movements, but this situation was different. If there is no influence from a Shadow, then he has no jurisdiction to interfere. Spirits are not allowed to tamper with deaths caused by humans. The law was absolute--severe punishment awaits those who break it.  
  
He has the power to stop the deaths, yet he is powerless at the same time (he laughs a bitter laugh and wonders if this is how God feels like watching Spirits and Shadows fight each other to the death in whatever plane of existence He resided in). Sighing, Akira prepares to summon back Arsene when a powerful force strikes him from behind.

Stars flood his vision, and he shakes his head like a dog out of water. Through his muddled vision he can make out three silhouettes--an Ose, a Dakini and a Naga--all of the menacing and ready to kill.

No matter. He just has to eliminate them before they eliminate him.  
  
He quickly took out his gun and pulled the trigger. While the humans were killing each other down below, Akira and the shadows were having a fight overhead.  
  
The Shadows were by no means strong, but they had terribly high accuracy and evasion, dodging his attacks left and right while wearing him down bit by bit. He lamented not having a skill that could bring down the enemy’s accuracy and evasion stats.  
  
“Just die already!” Akira hisses through his teeth as he fires at the Dakini. A surge of satisfaction rises in his chest when the enemy became dazed from the shot. That satisfaction however, is short lived when the enemy aims an attack at the church’s stained glass windows, the large shards falling directly towards the unsuspecting humans.  
  
“Look out!”

Using whatever remaining strength he has, he flies towards the fragments and fires at it, disintegrating them into smaller powder like particles that fell down harmlessly on the humans like snow in winter. The men take no notice to what is happening around them as they continue to fight.

With his attention diverted to the humans, the shadows take the opportunity to land debuffs on him, making it more difficult for him to land even a single attack on them. He’s tired, injured and there’s an unpleasant ringing in his head. He needs backup, _urgently._

He makes quick work to send a distress call to Futaba, not before he fails to guard against another attack that shaves off the last remainder of his health. The corners of his vision begin to blur, and gravity’s all the more ready than ever to pull him down to the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> _Shadow faith is something omnipresent all hours in the day and night in the human world. Shadows gain power through pessimism and distorted desires of humans, tempting the weak willed to give in to temptation. Similarly, Spirits gain power through belief of God. Because of this, Spirits enjoy hanging around churches and places of worship, where God’s faith is the strongest._
> 
> -Audio Book of the Weiss Fairytale, <<Yaldabaoth>>
> 
>  

 

 

He can hear the chirping of birds.

Strange. There are no birds in Mementos. If anything, he should be awoken by the annoying shrill of that damnable alarm clock. Did they replace that awful alarm to something more pleasant? Perhaps this time he can avoid brutally murdering his alarm clock by hurling it across the room and having Futaba patch it back up again.

Forcing his heavy eyelids open, he’s greeted with warm hues of orange, yellow and purple instead of posh white. Something’s amiss.

Memories begin rushing into his head. The mission, the brawl at the church, the Shadows…

_‘Shit… I really screwed up’._

How’s he going to report this to Sae? Before he was so cocky and confident, ready to prove that Disciple wrong and impress his superior. Instead he gets his ass handed to him by a few shadows that were not even that strong to begin with. If he could punch himself, he would’ve, but the lack of energy renders it difficult.

The dull pain of his injuries keeps him from drifting back to sleep. For a while, he’s content to just lay back and admire the vibrant colours that paints the evening sky, watching the sun descend the mountains and the flock of birds that fly past in a V formation.

He should hurry up and return to Mementos. Futaba must be worried sick after he sent the distress call; surely his friends and Sae grow anxious every passing minute. It would not be long before a search party will be dispatched, and he hates troubling others.

Or is it because he’s afraid of the thought of returning home with the fact that he failed his first mission as a member of the Sixth Unit? He can hear the sneer of that Disciple, crossing his arms and looking down at him as if he’s dirt on his boot. Sae would be disgruntled, expressing her disappointment in entrusting him with the hope that he would make her proud.

Going back doesn’t seem appealing in the slightest. He toys with the idea of bleeding to death right here and there, but the mere idea of him dying on his first mission is even more humiliating.

He gingerly props himself upright, all the while breathy gasps escape his throat as a sharp sting of pain explodes on his right shoulder. His left hand instinctively reaches out to clutch it, only to realise that his wound has been wrapped in a torn piece of fabric clumsily tied to his arm. Taking a better look at his surroundings, he discovers that he is on a wagon filled with logs with all his wounds bandaged up.

He turns to look at the rider driving the wagon: a young man with blonde hair. He’s probably a peasant judging by the dirty, sweat stained clothes.

That man is most likely the one that bandaged his wounds and placed him in this wagon, but Akira still has his doubts. He doesn’t know if he has good intentions or has an underlying motive in helping him. Humans are more complex creatures than what Spirits credit them for.

Very, very slowly, he gets up and approaches him as if he were a wolf stalking his prey from behind the bushes (he’s thankful that the man didn’t touch it) and grasps it with both hands. Fortunately, at the moment the rider remains blissfully unaware of his presence, whistling to a merry tune. Not until he lets out a yawn and turns around--

And screams with a pitch so high that he could break glass if he tries.

He flails in a poor attempt to prevent himself from falling off his horse. Noticing the gun that’s pointed at him, he immediately raises both his hands in surrender with wide eyes that look as if they are about to bulge out from their sockets.

“Woah man! You gotta… j-just calm down for a sec! I’m not trying to hurt ya. Look, I’m unarmed! Heheh…” He wriggles both of his empty hands to prove his point.

Akira blinks at him, unamused. “Why did you help me?”

“Well, I-ugh- was passing by when I saw you on the ground all beaten and bruised up. I couldn't just leave you there!”

Akira blinks once. Twice. This man seems sincere enough, from his tone to his body language to the earnest in his eyes that seem to scream: ‘please believe me.’

And believe in him he will. Returning his gun to its holster, the man lets out a loud sigh of relief and lowers his arms. “So... we cool?”

There’s still tension in his muscles and Akira doesn’t really blame him for not letting his guard down completely. Only a fool would do that even after having a gun pointed at their face.

“Sure, don’t worry about it.”

The man grins. “Now we’re talking!” He then steps forward and reaches out for Akira’s right arm. Upon reflex he jerks violently and shoves him aside, only for the stinging pain on his shoulder to return. There are stars in his vision and his blood runs cold.

When the stars leave his sight, he discovers a pair of arms holding him, one on his back and the other cradling his head. “Crap, you aren’t okay man. The house ain’t that much further and my Ma can help you…”

Akira’s eyes widen. “Wait, you’re... taking me back to your home?”

“Well, yeah,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “the medical supplies are back home.”

Staying over at his house. A human’s house. Akira has always been curious about the human world and their lives. What will it be like? Will he also happen to have an annoying alarm clock with an equally awful alarm? However, there’s a law--of course there is--that prohibited Spirits from having any further relations with humans; the only exception is when a Disciple has been granted a permit to communicate with a member of the clergy. Lower class Spirits have no reason to warrant contact with a human. If his superiors catch word about this, he would surely be punished.

But a part of him (all of him) tells him to throw it all to the wind, to ignore everything that has been told to him about humans, about etiquette and laws because since when does he ever follow the rules like an obedient little soldier?

(Besides, there’s no possible way for Akira to return back anyway. Mementos resided in another plane from the human world and can only be accessed by beings with holy power and the Meta Nav App. Without holy power he’s as useful as a sack of chopped liver).

The blonde gets back on his horse and whips the reins, continuing down the muddy, rocky trail.

“I’m Ryuji Sakamoto by the way, nice to meet ya.” he says in a tone so casual as though he had forgotten that not long ago, he was held at gunpoint for helping out a well dressed stranger lying unconscious in the middle of a dirt road.

“Akira… uhh… Kurusu. It’s a pleasure.”

Whether or not Sakamoto picks up on the odd way Akira introduces himself, he doesn't comment on it. “You’re kinda weird, not gonna lie.” His grin does not falter under Akira’s glare. “Let’s get on well!”

The way his last name rolls off Sakamoto's tongue sends a wave of unbearable sadness and his body shakes. Is he feeling sentimental because of the sunset? Although he has never felt such a strong emotion before, it somehow felt familiar.

Without understanding the ache in his chest, he simply sits back and and gazes at the expansive fields covered with tall blades of weeds and wildflowers.

 

* * *

 

Jihsun Village. A remote farming village situated over a cliff in Rostrea. Akira recalls studying about this village for a geography test and knows that this village acts as a major Aldmoor fruit grower and wine producer for the entire country.

Sakamoto’s one of the few lumberjacks, and he frequents the woods to the west, waking up before the sun rises and heading back with his cargo when the sun sets. His home is a simple stone house with a tiled roof. The interior is small and only has two rooms. Furniture was entirely nonexistent save for two beds, a dining table and a shabby kitchen, but it was cozy nonetheless.

“Oh no… you are _not_ making me drink that.”

“Nonsense! It’s good for you.” A middle aged woman chides at him, holding a wooden bowl of soup.

“I am not drinking that foul smelling soup.” Akira backs into a corner, raising his hands in front of him to shield himself from her, eyeing the bowl warily as if it were poison (it may as well be).

The lady lets out a dramatic sigh. “Oh well, you leave me with no choice. Ryu-kun!” She turns to look at her son who’s watching the scene unfold, and now he has little choice to participate in it. “Hold him down for me.”

Akira lets out a cry of protest as he was restrained in an armlock from behind. He turns his head towards him and gives him a glare of contempt, grinding his teeth. If glares can kill, Sakamoto would have died many times over.

The blonde gives him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry man. It’s for your own good.”

“Traitor! Let me go! Nonononononono!”

His jaw is forced open and the tip of the bowl’s pressing to his lips. The rancid, bitter liquid burns his tongue, spiking his gag reflex and makes his head swim. Sakamoto presses his palm to Akira's mouth to prevent him from vomiting it out.

“There now, it wasn't too bad.” The woman coaxes, patting his shoulder affectionately.

Unable to form any words, Akira stares at her, appalled.

“Ma forces me to drink that when I get sick. You get used to it after a while.”

If only he can summon Arsene, he could’ve skipped out on the foul soup with a simple Diarahan. No matter how grave the injury, with the right spells any wound can be healed. Unfortunately, having lost a huge amount of holy power from his previous battle renderes him unable to do so. (Besides, he’s _not_ sick. Spirits don’t catch illnesses).

“It’s a special recipe of mine made from Aldmoor fruit. I used to be a medic, I know what I’m doing.” Ms Sakamoto says as a matter of fact, placing the empty wooden bowl in a basin.

“I’m not sick, just injured…” Akira protests, folding his arms and pursing his lips. He’s probably acting like a child throwing a tantrum but he’ll have this woman know that he’s not in the mood to be cuddled and forced fed with foul soup.

“Even so, your body needs to be healthy so that you’ll heal faster.”

“I told you--”

“There’s no point in arguing with my Ma.” Sakamoto says, helping Akira back to the bed. “Just rest up.” His mother hums in agreement.

Normal humans cannot see or feel a Spirit’s presence without the aid of a third eye. In truth, Spirits can reveal themselves at will, but due to the laws that prohibit relations with humans, they never saw the need to uncloak themselves. Akira concludes that concealing himself would cause a lot of inconveniences for Sakamoto, so he choses to make himself visible.

While he’s staying over at the village, he poses as a travelling merchant. While he was on his way to Elfdell to sell his wares, he was robbed by a group of bandits. Not wanting to go down without a fight, he retaliated and ended up gravely injured. While he was left for dead, Sakamoto had fortunately passed by and was kind enough to help him.

He’s fooled the world into believing that he’s human, even if its only for a short while.

Evening comes and dinner is served. It’s consisted of porridge, bread and a generous serving of Aldmoor fruit. The food is bland at best, but Sakamoto eats it heartily.

“You know I love you, Ryu-kun, but you can be so clumsy sometimes. The bandages were all wrong.”

“I tried my best, Ma!” Sakamoto shouts defensively, his cheeks growing warm. “And don’t call me that!”

Her lips are pursed; it’s clear that she’s trying not to laugh. “Ryu-kun? But you always like it when I call you that.”

“Not in front of him!”

Mother and son continue to playfully bicker, and Akira wonders if they have meals like this every evening, teasing and ridiculing each other and not because they’re putting a show in front of him.

She tells Akira that he can stay as long as he likes until he fully recovers. He will have no choice but to leave when he does, and subconsciously, a part of him wishes that he would never recover.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

If there’s anything that Akira hates, it’s that he hates being coddled.

He hates being seen as a fragile porcelain doll that could shatter into pieces at any given moment, because he is anything _but_ a porcelain doll.

Ms. Sakamoto is a lovely woman, but there’s a limit to how much of her over-protectiveness and her soups he can bear before it begins to overwhelm him.

After much, much persuasion, she let Akira accompany Sakamoto to work for today--albeit rather reluctantly. He finds himself entertaining the horse for the majority of the time, feeding it carrots and apples Ms Sakamoto gave to him in a basket, while Sakamoto was hard at work, swinging his axe with precision that can only be done by seasoned professionals.

“Hey Kurusu, how's Jihsun life treating you?”

“Well… it’s different from what I'm used to, but it's fun, don't you think?”

Sakamoto pauses. “Fun? I've never thought of it that way. Maybe that's because you're rich.”

Akira cocks his head to the side. “Rich? Me?”

“The material of your clothes look _real_ expensive. People like me can never afford such good quality fabric. Also, you speak pretty fancy.”

Akira forces out a laugh to hide his nervousness (he’s forgotten that polyester has not yet been invented in the human world, what an idiot). While he can’t deny this, he also can’t reveal the truth, especially at a time too soon. Even if he does spill the beans, Sakamoto will not believe him and dismiss it as a joke and where’s the fun in that.

“Didn’t you mention that you wanted rabbit stew tonight? Let’s go hunting.” Akira mentions in an attempt to steer the topic of well dressed strangers that lie about their identity to something else.

Sakamoto takes the bait. “Oh yeah! I’ve been craving it for the _longest_ time. Let me get my bow.” While leaning over the wagon to search for it in a pile of logs, he asks, “ya got your own rifle? I ain’t got a spare for ya.”

In response Akira takes his weapon from its holster to show it off in all its glory, and Sakamoto _loses_ it. He asks to borrow it and Akira is happy to oblige.

Like a child that had just been gifted an expensive toy, he looks at it from many angles, admiring the glossy finish and the enamel of Mementos’ logo engraved on the slide.  “Dude, this thing looks _so_ much better than the rifles chief has. We should go hunting with this bad boy!”

Now that he mentions it, was there a law that forbid Spirits to use their weapons on wildlife? (But he has already broken so many laws; breaking another one doesn’t matter).

The two of them prowl the forest, like tigers on the lookout for prey. It takes them quite a while to track down a brown rabbit eating berries from a stash it gathered. Better yet, it remains oblivious to its surroundings. Grinning, Sakamoto aims his bow at his target, takes a deep breath for good luck, and releases his hold on the bow string.  

“Dammit!” Sakamoto curses as the arrow lands a feet away from the rabbit that begins to scurry away from danger, kicking up dirt along the way.

Not wanting to give up on rabbit stew, he continues chasing after the rabbit. It runs and runs and runs until they corner it against a cliff wall. Akira watches in interest as the animal trembles from exhaustion and fear--probably both--while Sakamoto brandishes out a pocket knife and, grabs it by the ears and--

And with a single slash to the neck it’s all over. Crimson red rains down on the vibrant green grass, the rabbit’s struggling grows weaker every second and its breathing becomes shallower, along with the sweet, sweet adrenaline rush that long wore off for Akira.

Everything happened too fast. If it were him in Sakamoto’s position he’d at least taunt with it a little instead of going for the kill immediately, of course not, that would spoil the fun.

If Sakamoto were to hear those words he’d probably be disgusted. He doesn’t blame him, though, because Akira knows that he’s a human being with morals (unlike himself).

Perhaps it's the injuries that are getting to him. Perhaps its the fact that he failed to successfully kill the Shadows at the church which is causing him to want to torture an innocent animal for his own sick amusement. He shakes his head in an attempt to clear away the impure thoughts (of course it doesn’t work).

In the corner of his eye he sees Sakamoto do a little victory cheer to himself. He then slings his catch over his shoulder before giving Akira a couple pats on the back. Sakamoto grins, flashing his sharp teeth and Akira can’t help but grin back.

 

* * *

 

When they get back, Ms Sakamoto’s exasperated. Even the rabbit stew they have for dinner didn’t lighten the punishment that she gives her son for putting Akira through something strenuous as hunting (despite Akira convincing her that he was not as fragile as he seems. Not surprisingly, she’s having none of it).

Akira can only give him sympathetic glances at the corner where Sakamoto’s made to kneel on uncooked rice in a wooden basin.

“It can’t be that bad.” Akira tosses in the bed, kicking away the woolen blanket.

“Hell no! Have you ever tried it? Try kneeling on that with all your body weight. At first it’s not so bad, but after… lemme tell you. You can feel every single grain and it HURTS! A LOT! You can’t adjust to it either, no matter what position you shift to it’ll still hurt. By the time you get up your knee will be all swollen and your body stiff as hell.”

“You sound very knowledgeable on this subject.”

“Well yeah! It’s not the first time Ma’s punished me like this…” Sakamoto groans as he shifts his position, unable to find any relief with the rice grains digging into his bones.

Deciding to continue their conversation to distract him from the pain, Akira tells a story of his ‘mother’. In his imaginary book world, she’s a strict, professional and business-savvy woman who helps out her husband’s small business firm. A workaholic, she is very strict with him and constantly tells him to study hard so that he can take over the family business. Despite her cold personality towards herself and her surroundings, she only softens up to him.

He continues feeding Sakamoto half truths--the perfect kind of lies-- until he grows weary and dozes off, dreaming about home and Sae’s lectures about daydreaming in class.

 

* * *

 

Akira feels his withdrawal symptoms kicking again.

Every morning, after completing the task of brutally murdering his alarm clock, he’d lie in bed, open his P.A.D and check his home feed. With every post he sees, he’d double tap the screen to give it a like, scroll up to the next post, rinse and repeat (he can’t find himself caring much about the posts of his many acquaintances he begrudgingly follows for etiquette sake, stopping only to read his friend’s posts for longer than five seconds at most).

After days of not using his P.A.D, he feels isolated and cut off from the rest of Mementos. It’s as if his fingers are programmed to seek out his gadget every time he wakes up.

Sakamoto’s sharpening his tools outside and his mother went to the lake to collect water. Surely he could sneak in some swipes.

Giving in to temptation, he huddles in the corner and feels a surge of satisfaction when he sees the familiar reds and blues of the webpage with his friend’s icon borders highlighted in orange. Not surprisingly, his feed is flooded with posts talking about his sudden disappearance and concerns for his safety, along with the occasional conspiracy post about him abandoning his mission.

(Given his rebellious nature, is it really any wonder that some might think he’d choose to become Lost on his very first mission--)

“Dude, the hell?”

Oh.

Oh God.

Does Sakamoto normally sharpen his tools this quickly? Surely not, surely he’s just imagining things. Surely it’s him getting so caught up in nervousness that it’s messing with his head, and not Sakamoto standing behind him with his P.A.D in full view.

With the autoplay function still on, the video switches to a metal cover of the latest trending song that Futaba blasts into her headphones everyday.

“I.. I can explain…” He can’t.

Sakamoto leans forward and gives the P.A.D a few experimental taps with his finger, eyes widening as the screen loads a new page. “What kind of thing is this? This is _sick._ You can do… _stuff_ with it. Is this some fancy magic thing? I didn’t think you’re into that kind of stuff.”

The Spirit is backed up in a corner like a trapped rat. There’s no way he can afford to lie himself out of this situation. The universe has finally caught up with his bullshit and it’s using Sakamoto to tear his ego down. The only solution is to bite the bullet and hope for the best. He closes his P.A.D as Sakamoto’s fingers hover dangerously close to his bookmarks folder.

“Sakamoto, do you… believe in spirits?”

The blonde frowns as he scratches the back of his neck. “Uhh… my faith does, but I’ve never seen one before. My Ma’s really interested in that kinda stuff about God and ghosts and all.”

“Spirits and ghosts are two completely different entities.” Akira growls, low and dangerous.

“Yikes.”

“Anyway, I’m asking you this because I’m one.”

God, it’s awkward, but it’s better than beating around the bush.

“What?”

“I’m not human. Everything I told you about myself and my mother? All a lie. Spirits exist, yes, in another plane in the human world. I’m not supposed to be here, y'know? I got myself injured during a mission, and you found me by chance.”

Sakamoto blinks once. Twice.

“I know all this sounds outlandish, but--”

“So you’re a ghost?”

If Akira could whack his head with a stick, he would. “NO.”

Sensing Akira’s thinning patience, he raises both his hands and shrinks a little like a kid getting a lecture for stealing the cookies from the cookie jar (except the cookies are given to him and he _drops_ it like the idiot he is and now he’s getting yelled at).

“Okay, I get it. But you look so… human? You’re nothing like those Spirit statues and painting in churches.”

“Humans who create the statues and paint the portraits for churches have never seen one before.”

For some reason humans like to think that Spirits are blondes draped in white, cascading robes adorned with gold ornaments on their necks, wrists and head, with threads of silver and gold embroidered in their clothes. They’d usually hold something in their hands, like a lyre or an exotic flower, all with a gentle smile on their faces and what’s up with that.

If anything, they’re obedient little toy soldiers that descend from the heavens and slaughter any Shadows in sight, not questioning orders or caring about anything other than their mission.

“You don’t hate me? For outright lying to you?” Akira hugs his knees, awaiting a response. He tells himself, repeatedly, that it’s fine if he hates him. Sakamoto opens his mouth and--

And laughs. It’s airy and bubbly and the tensions on his muscles seem to disappear. “Dude, I don’t. I’ve always thought of you as a cool guy, human or not, doesn't change who you are. Besides, having a spirit as a friend sounds cool!”

In the distance, there’s the sound of church bells and Akira wonders if his friends worrying over him in Mementos can hear them.

“You’re leaving soon right?”

He’s right. In fact, Akira was able to leave right now. With his wounds fully recovered and his holy power restored, he should have no problem heading back to Mementos. But he wants to stay just a little while longer, to preserve the warmth that fills his heart whenever he’s in this little stone house, whenever they have bland dinners together at the dinghy dining table and--

“Probably tonight. But I don’t want to impose on you." 

“Don’t worry about it. Think of it like a farewell dinner or something. We should go hunting again, and get ourselves a boar! Man, I _love_ boar meat.”

“I'm low on ammo though...”

“S'okay Kurusu. If we can't use the gun we'll just stick with my good ol’ bow and arrow.”

Suddenly, the name Kurusu feels like sandpaper against his ears. It feels disingenuous, but that’s because Kurusu isn’t his name. Spirits have no need for family names, a family name for a Spirit is akin to insulting the Holy Grail that birthed them.

“Hey, you can call me Akira. We're friends now, aren't we?”

It’s almost like a scene out of a sappy novel, he’s surprised neither of them are falling over in embarrassment.

“Friends? Oh yeah, I'll call you Akira then!”

The wide, cheeky grin that seems childish and endearing, under the warm light of the afternoon that shines through the ratted windows, is akin to the sun.

 

* * *

 

  


 

His eyes are set on the vast field of vegetable crops.

When Akira first sees artificially planted crops rather than harvesting naturally grown ones, he’s amazed how humans had lots of means to earn money and live differently. By growing their own grain and poultry, they had a steady source of food to feed the rapidly growing population. “The land is no longer dominated by God, but by the people” is what Igor would inadvertently complain. But witnessing villagers doing farm work, he can find some truth in his words.

In a sense, the relation to “creation” of humans and “create”, which is an act of God. In God’s eyes, human creation is inferior as they are unable to start the process entirely from scratch. However, after witnessing the scene, he’s deeply impressed with human intelligence and their will to survive.

Perhaps humans aren’t as inferior as he thinks they are.

It never occurs to him how tedious farm work is. Spirits are on average, much stronger than humans. (He has no trouble whatsoever hauling piles of logs in one go, much to Ryuji’s amazement). As a result, they’re able to do any manual work effortlessly, not that they need to with automation in Mementos.

Sometimes he forgets that humans have physical limitations, having the audacity to question why the woodcutter had to take several breaks during work.

“Don’t you have have duties in heaven or something?” Ryuji asks, taking a swig at his canteen. It’s hot, unusually and unbearably so today, and it’s the third canteen he’s drained today.

Akira takes a swig on his own canteen( it’s purely for show, since he’s trying to integrate into human society, and no human can go for hours in the sweltering afternoon without water).

“Of course I do. Because you’re _so_ much more important to me than my mission.”

“For real?” Ryuji’s eyes light up.

“...no. Frankly, you’re not worth losing my job over.” He knows that he’s being a little mean but they’ve been good friends for quite a while now and insulting each other is what good friends do.

“Ouch. That hurt, Aki.”

Akira can feel the tip of his ears burning. “Don’t call me that.”

“If _I_ have an embarrassing nickname, it’s only fair that you have one as well.

“You’re so rude, Ryu-kun.”

“Shaddup.”

They continue to make snarky comments whenever they could, because it’s hard to talk to each other when a tall stack of boxes are in your way. By the time they were done and the boxes are no longer separating them, Ryuji is too tired to even speak, let alone retort back to a snarky insult and honestly, where’s the fun in that.

The sun is setting and it’s time for Akira to depart, hopefully he can leave without bumping into any _particularly_ annoying people. He sees Ryuji conversing with his friend Mishima and another girl that he knows too well that isn’t--

Speak of the devil, she spots him and waves eagerly at his direction. There’s no way he can just walk away without coming across as rude, so he takes a deep, deep breath and walks towards them.

“Kurusu! Thanks for the hard work!” She says with a smile, her healthy white teeth shining in the evening sun. (Her smile doesn’t feel genuine, yet it doesn’t feel fake either, residing in an uncanny valley that makes his skin crawl).

“Thank you…” Akira replies. He’s careful to not sound too disinterested, he’s seen the things she’s capable of saying if someone ever _dares_ to sound glum when speaking to her, and he’s not in the mood to entertain her.

She smooths the creases on her skirt. “We were just talking about the harvest festival.”

“So soon?” Akira tilts his head. “Isn’t it a couple months away?

“Even so, it’s good to prepare early! I’ve heard the harvest is particularly bountiful this year.”

They continue to chat, and by chat it’s her dragging out the conversation, Akira responding with cookie cutter answers, Ryuji occasionally interjecting and Mishima kicking up dirt with his shoe until her equally boisterous friends arrive to escort her home.

When Mishima bores of kicking dirt, he begins fiddling with the end of his shirt sleeves, his eyes cast downwards. “I’m not very good at talking to girls. Ever since Kurusu’s arrival, I think it’s been helping me a lot.”

“Does Mika talk to you two often?”

Ryuji rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, totally. That chick is totally heads over heels for me!”

“...Lies.” Mishima mutters darkly. “Before Kurusu arrived she wouldn’t even look at our direction.”

“Let a guy live out his dream man!” Akira didn’t think it’s possible for Ryuji’s face to become more flushed than it is.

Mishima loses interest in his shirt sleeve and looks up. “I think… Mika likes Akira. She probably talks with us to get closer to him.”

While the Spirit is no stranger to the concept of biological sex and reproductive activities, the idea of an intimate relationship between a man and a woman is foreign to him. The expression that humans call “love.”

“What do you think of Mika, Kurusu?” Mishima asks.

Mika is--

“Strange.”

She’s flamboyant, she’s popular with boys, she can’t go without a day trying to find excuses to remain close to him whenever he visits, he finds her gentle smiles have lost its charm, and he can’t describe what he thinks about her in words. Just _strange_.

Ryuji looks at Akira like he’s picked up a bug and swallowed it right in front of them for no particular reason. “Dude, how can you _not_ be into her? What kind of tastes do you have?” Even Mishima’s surprised.

“Although you say that, I’m not particularly interested in women.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said it, because Ryuji’s staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes and Mishima’s looking down at the dirt ground again.

“Oh… so maybe...oooh.”

“That’s not… that’s not what I meant!”

(He should choose his words carefully next time--)

Before he can think of the many ways to bury himself alive, Ryuji’s neighbour, Takeshita, appears right behind them like a ghost with his lackeys trailing behind him. Akira never bothers to learn their names, though he vaguely remembers one of them.

“Hey Sakamoto, Mishima, I need to talk with you for a sec.”

Takeshita, with his messy hair and greasy skin, urges them behind a house. Whatever they want to talk about certainly wouldn't be anything pleasant given how many a time Ryuji expresses his distaste for him. Concerned for their safety, Akira attempts to follow them, only to be shoved by one of his henchmen.

“This doesn't concern you. Go home or something.”

How can he, when the atmosphere around them sends a pit in his gut? If a fight were to occur Ryuji and Mishima wouldn't stand a chance against four people.  When the figures disappear behind the house, Akira hides beneath the shadows, watching the scene unfold from afar.

“Who do you think you are?”

“The hell?”

“I saw it! You two were talking to Mika! I wonder what y'all are planning.”

“We weren't planning anything! S-she just came to us and asked us about--”

“Shut the hell up! How do you low lives get her attention while I don't? Clearly there's something going on!”

Is this what they call a “male-male competition” in sexual selection? If that were the case, Akira wonders why it isn’t himself being surrounded by very angry village men trying to claw his eyes out. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding, but even so, four against two was quite unfair.

“Have you noticed that Mika is uncomfortable around you two? I forbid you to ever go near her again!”

Mishima’s trying his best not to tremble.

“Don't ignore me! Speak up!”

Takeshita’s raising his voice, grabbing the collar of Mishima's shirt, lifting him off the ground. The boy is visibly quaking, and Ryuji’s face hardens to a scowl. Before any of the lackeys realise it, he’s swinging his fists towards Takeshita and--

And Akira rushes in to grab Ryuji’s wrists, the blonde’s fist only a mere inch away from Takeshita’s greasy right cheek. He loses his grip on Mishima’s collar and Akira takes the opportunity to get in between them.

“Kurusu?”  

Takeshita’s clearly taken aback, though not letting go of Mishima. Akira lets go of Ryuji’s wrists and grabs Takeshita’s instead.

“Let's not get into a fight. I'm sure we can handle this like civilised people.”

“You saying we should talk it out? Isn't that what we're doing before _you_ came along?” He reeks of sweat and booze, with a hint of damaged ego.

“I believe this is all a misunderstanding.”

“But…”

Akira gives him a Mika smile and adds more force to his grip.

“I believe hoisting someone in the air isn't what I'd call 'talking it out’”

“Fo-forget it! Let me go! Hey, you three, we're leaving!”

Akira briefly contemplates crushing his wrists. It won’t take him much effort, all he needs to do is add a little more pressure-- but instead he releases him, watching him and his lackeys make their escape, with Takeshita turning back to glower at him while nursing his sore wrists. When their figures disappear from view, Mishima lets out his breath that he’s been holding.

“Are you two okay?”

“Yes, thanks a lot!” Mishima exclaims.

“If you didn't restraint me back there I would've given that guy a piece of my mind…” Ryuji grumbles, cracking his knuckles once more, as if itching for another confrontation.

“Who knows what'll happen if I didn't.”

If Takeshima did get his way, Akira would personally drop them a visit and actually crush their wrists, maybe break a few more bones for fun. (Human adults have two hundred and six bones in the body, surely they wouldn’t mind losing a few).

After all he’s doing this to protect Ryuji, he thinks. And Mishima, of course (he adds as an afterthought, as if he’s reading his thoughts aloud, as if he thinks someone is present).

 

* * *

 

It’s night in Mementos. The robotic voice from the intercom carries on playing without fail, and the hustle of dinner rush has quieted significantly.

Even though Akira's known for his rebellion, he's not the type to eat in his room (you'd be surprised at the number of peers that believe that he does otherwise). Yet all his friends are seated in a circle on the floor of his room sharing dessert, while he lies on his bed, muscles sore and stiff.

“He was so _slow._ I almost starved to death waiting for him!” Ann laments as she grabs another cookie from the basket and adds it to her already overflowing plate of food.

“We can’t starve to death…” The boy sitting beside her states flatly.

“It’s called a _figure of speech_ , Yusuke.”

Yusuke takes a nibble from his cookie, as if trying to make it last as long as possible. “My apologies. Though you cannot blame Akira for taking so long; the Cathedral is colossal. I’m surprised that he managed to finish before lights out.”

Akira sighs and mumbles something that goes unheard as he the girl, Haru, sitting on his bed continues rubbing ointment on his sore legs. “You poor thing. I told you not to push yourself!”

“Even if you don’t listen to the higher ups, at least listen to Haru’s advice.” Another girl, Makoto, is staring at him with a hardened gaze, as if she were a mother lecturing her child (she may as well be, considering that she’s the one that’s over-protective of everyone and makes sure that they don’t stay up after lights out).

“...Soz...dn’t mnn too…”

“Is that all you want to say?” Makoto’s tone is sharp and cold, giving him a gaze that isn’t just cold, it's the gaze that they all knew is the one she uses when she’s genuinely angry.

“U-uhm! Akira didn't have any bad intentions! He's just… erm, trying to help out his friend! He just got carried away and that's how it ended up!” Haru timidly interjects, much to Makoto's surprise. “Anyways… it's my fault that he went to the human world today. I couldn't convince him to stay when he's off duty, so please forgive him! If you're going to punish him, then punish me as well!”

She's putting her palms together as a plea for Akira to be let off the hook. Yusuke, who had been spacing out, quickly returns to his senses and rushes to Haru's side.

“Haru, it should have been my obligation, as your partner, to help you keep an eye over Akira instead of sketching in my room! Therefore, the one that should be held liable is I. Punish me as well!”

“Punish me as well!” Futaba chimes in. “I'm his partner, and I failed to keep in tabs with his activities!”

Ann quickly puts down her plate of food and stands up.  “...and me three! I'm his friend and I should be punished too!”

“H-hey! Stop it! I really appreciate what you're doing but everything is entirely my fault.” He gets up from bed and steps in between them, looking down at Makoto's unrestrained expression. She glances at the four before trailing her eyes back to him.

He admits that he's irresponsible for not knowing the limits of his own body, (Yes, Spirits are much stronger and more resilient than humans, but at the same time they can become fatigued like humans do) despite his efforts of not wanting to admit that he passed out while on the way to the cafeteria, in front of everybody to gawk at like a caged animal at a circus.

“Is that so? Then, you’ll admit that it was a mistake to prioritise your personal activities over your duties?”

“Yes, but I really don’t think that I’m doing anything wrong by helping out Ryuji--”

Ryuji--

The name of a human that he hears from Akira’s mouth so many times. Every time she hears him say his name, she can’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance.

“You _collapsed_ in front of me. Stop thinking about yourself for awhile and think about how _we_ feel!”

Bowing her head down, she tries her best not to shed tears, especially not in from of her friends. The tension in the air grows thicker every passing second, with each heavy breath that she takes.

(Because ever since Akira has made his new human friend, he’s beginning to neglect his health, his duties and his friends. He chooses to spend his off days frolicking in the human world, he chooses to spend time with that human, to help him out with his chores while Akira himself damn knows well he has his community service sentence to serve which takes so much of his energy and it’s all that human’s fault--)

“I’m sorry.”

Makoto snaps out of her jumbled thoughts. “Excuse me?”

“You’re right, this is entirely my fault. I didn’t realise I was being so insensitive and neglectful to you all. I’ll try my best to manage my time more efficiently.”

Hearing this, she looks very surprised, clearly not expecting an apology, though she can’t say that she’s not happy about it.

“Y-yeah! What he said! He just needs some time to manage his time!” Haru looks relieved that the situation hasn’t escalated to an argument as she feared. “It’s only been a few months since he graduated and has a lot more on his plate than before. Please go easy on him!”

Makoto glances at Haru and lets out an inward sigh. You’re way too nice to him, Makoto thinks to herself.

The others see their opening and immediately swoop in. Ann ushers her to sit down, Futaba places their shared basket of cookies to her lap and Yusuke turns on the air humidifier. Makoto is still somewhat displeased, however, her mood seems to have gotten better.

“Bribing me now, aren’t we? How cunning, I expected better from you guys.” She remarks, taking a bite.

“We’re sorry!”

Her five friends look at her with pleading eyes.

Honestly--

“Well, if you can promise me that Akira won’t collapse on me a second time, my lips are sealed.”

Everyone lets out their breath that they’ve been holding, and the tension of the room melts away like ice cream on a hot summer day.

“As expected of Makoto-san! She’s so reliable in times of need!”

“Yes, quite. I can see it quite clearly now. Despite appearances, Makoto-senpai is deeply compassionate and merciful.”

“Yay! Not guilty!”

“You’re so nice senpai! I’m so glad to have you as my partner!”

“You’re awfully quiet, Akira.” Her tone now is much gentler. “I’m not mad at you for visiting the human world. I’m just concerned about you, and… I’m sorry for taking my frustration on you.”

He smiles at her. “You just want to protect us, I can understand that. Thank you, senpai.”

For a brief moment, he looks older and happier and wise. He then talks to her about humans and she puts on an innocent air again, nodding at his every word.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Ryuji dreams. He dreams of a nightmare.

What did he ever do to piss the man off? Why must it be this way? Why, why, why, he thinks as he endures another punch to the stomach. His world spins and the ground seems like it was holding him firmly in position for the man convenience to pummel him again.

Maybe it's because his heart’s thumping so loudly it's the only thing he can hear, maybe it's his Ma rushing towards him, maybe it’s that he finally breaks, but he--

“Bad dream?”

His eyes open wide. The back of a hand comes into contact with his sweaty forehead. When he shifts to the side, he feels warmth.

When he looks up, it takes him a second or two for his vision to focus on the figure sitting next to his bed.

“Yeah. Effin’ awful.” He confides, smothering his face with his pillow. He doesn't question why Akira’s here, in his house in the dead of the night--it might be that his brain is still trying to process his nightmare, his memories-- but he guessed that since he's not human he can do whatever he wants.

“Oh?” The chair frame creaks as he moves. Ryuji tales a deep breath, recognising the unnatural musk that he can’t describe in words. Not that it’s unpleasant. Do non humans just smell that way?

“Should I ask?” Ryuji shudders.

“It's my asshole of a dad. Even from the grave he haunts my dreams.” He smothers his face in his pillow, muffling his words. “He gave me and my Ma hell when he was still alive and kicking, and I couldn't do anything. Not even in my own darn dreams.”

He can hear Akira murmur something but couldn't make out what. “I’m sorry.”

He's still pressing his face against the pillow. “S'okay. He kicked the bucket a longgg time ago. Good riddance.”

“I could bring you something to help you ease your nightmares. It works for me.” Akira offers.

Ryuj nods. Anything to vanquish the looming figure that torments him night after night. If his Ma is listening on this, she would've lectured him about accepting medicine from someone other than herself.

“You sure it's okay for me?”

Akira blinks once. Twice. “No guarantees, now that I think about it. It wasn't made for humans in mind.”

Ryuji wonders if Akira can see the disappointment that he’s trying his best to hide. “That's fine.”

He closes his eyes and opens them. There are stars behind his eyelids.

“Hey, I want to show you something.” Akira takes a capsule like thing out from his breast pocket, taps a button and white light begins pouring out of it, forming a screen with a bunch of moving pictures and squiggles.

Ryuji remembers seeing this screen for the first time, thinking it was some sort of lamp. There’s so much going on in the little box it is encompassed in, he doesn’t know what he should be looking at first. Akira doesn't say anything, allowing him time to gawk at the foreign technology.

“It's my P.A.D. Can't live without it.”

“You mean you'll die if you don't have it? What does it do anyway?”

Akira grins. “ _Something_ like that. Not in literal terms, though.” His fingers begin tapping at boxes, circles and arrows on the screen, each time he does the screen changes its layout completely. “It’s something like... a thing that lets you communicate with anyone you like, no matter how far away they are.”

He taps on a red box with a letter in it. Someone's portrait appears--she has orange coloured hair with glasses framing her baby face; not his type but she's cute nonetheless-- next to multiple boxes with words and tiny yellow circles. Looking closer, he realises that they're actually yellow faces.

A bunch of squiggles in squares appear (everything in that P.A.D thing are all in squares apparently) and he's pressing on them so fast he finds it hard to believe that he knows what he's doing. A button is pressed and a new box appears in the log.

"Try to think of it like writing letters.” Akira powers off his fancy gadget and places it on his lap. “Except you don't need paper, ink or require someone to send the letter.”

“Really? Then how's the message sending over to the other person? I mean.. the letter isn't _there,_ like _actually_ there. And how does it send over by itself? Does it have a mind of its own? What about--”

A gloved finger moves to his lips to silence him and he swallows his thoughts. “Slow down, you're asking too many questions at the same time.” Under the faint glow of the moonlight, he can make out Akira's amused expression. “Even if I do answer your questions, you probably won't get it anyway.”

The capsule in Akira's hand vibraties. He switches it on and taps away, probably writing a reply to a message, stifling a chuckle while doing so.

“What's so funny?” Ryuji asks.

Akira flashes the screen at his direction, but all Ryuji sees are black squiggles and yellow faces. He looks at the Spirit, who in turn is looking at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to laugh.

“Don't you get the joke?”

A sigh escapes Ryuji's lips. “I can't read, man.”

Now it's Akira's turn to be surprised. “Are you for real?”

“Yup. Can barely even write my own name, even if my life depended on it.”

Akira blinks once, twice, many times after that. “But… if you can't read, then how are you able to speak the language? Doesn't anyone teach you? Is the school you're going to even competent enough--”

There's a finger on Akira's lips. “I don't go to school. No one here goes to school. Who has the time for that?”

“But I can teach you.”

He quirks an eyebrow at him. “No can do. It's against the law to even pick up a book. If the chief finds out about it I'll be in _big_ trouble.” He leans forward. “Ma told me what happened to some guy called Atsuji. She said that the guards found a whole shelf of books in a secret compartment in his house. They burned it all in front of the village and dragged him off. No one saw him ever again.”

Akira visibly recoils, as if the revelation had grown arms and smacked him in the face. The only word that he mutters is “why?”

Ryuji thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Dunno. It's always been like this. Ain't nothing I can do about it. There's no point in me learning how to read or write, much less risk getting punished for it. I'm happy where I am now, s’all that matters, yea?”

The expression in Akira's face seems to ask ‘are you really?’ Yes, of course he is. His dad is gone, his Ma is happy again, and he's made a new friend, a friend that lives in an alternate plane of existence and sends letters instantaneously with a P.A.D.

“Hey, tell me more about your world. How different is it compared to mine?”

“Hmm, well for starters, we're about a few thousand years ahead of your world. There's nothing in this world that can't be found in Mementos.”

“Even shitty lords and snot faced nobles?”

“You say weird things sometimes. The Disciples treat us juniors well.”

“You don't need to pay rent or anything?”

“...no?”

Ryuji's eyes light up. “It's _that_ good? You gotta take me with you!”

“But you said you were happy here.”

“Yea, but the grass is always greener on the other side!”

“I can't sneak you in even if I wanted to. You don't even have holy power or the Meta Nav app. No matter how high you fly, you'll just be flying through endless sky.”

“Darn. Well, is there anything else? You have a school there, right? You go there to read and write and learn stuff like the rich kids in the schools we have here.”

“Yup. I've just recently graduated actually. Thank god for that, school was a chore. Now I get to visit the human world without supervision.”

“It is? Well I'm glad I don't have to go to school.” (If Ryuji did went to school he'd probably suck at it).

His train of thought is cut off by a yawn. “Aren't you tired man? It's the middle of the night!”

“Eh? No? It's not lights out yet.”

Ryuji gives him an incredulous stare. “But it's the middle of the night.”

“It's only eleven o clock.”

“Who stays awake at that hour?”

“Well, I should mention that artificial lighting enables us to stay awake longer. Besides, Spirits don't need as much sleep as humans. Six hours is more than enough for us. Food however, is not a need for Spirits. Mealtimes are more of a social activity for us.”

“Huh? Sounds convenient. Does that mean you can't die?”

He remembers the day he met Akira. There was fresh blood spilling from his wounds and he seemed incredibly weak. Do they die of injuries, just like humans can?

“We don’t die by reaching the end of our lifespans. Our appearances change as we grow older, but we can preserve it at our own timing. If I didn’t want to look any older, I can stay this way forever. Ah, but I can’t do the reverse though…” Akira touches his cheek as if he were checking for wrinkles. “Instead we die when our holy power is used up. The truth is, even humans have holy power in the form of a third eye. You’re able to see me, aren’t you? That means you have a third eye. Only a few humans have it and have the ability to see Spirits and Shadows, but at the same time, they are susceptible to magic.

“Holy… power? Sounds like some kind of spice name.”

Akira chuckles at his comment. “Right… well, even so, humans don’t have the ability to manipulate it, so they don’t realise it. Holy power is kind of like… the power of God. In both Mementos and the human world, there’s holy power everywhere, but there are places where it’s more concentrated. Over here, it would be the Rostrea region since the Yaldabaoth faith is commonly practiced around these parts.”

“Ohhh… by the way, how old are you? You don’t happen to be a wrinkly old man, are you?”

Akira recoils in horror a second time that night, and Ryuji swears he sees a vein popping out on his temple. “ _Excuse_ you, didn’t I mention a moment ago that I’m a fresh graduate? I’m only a hundred and thirty years, and by the way, for spirits, that’s still considered young.”

Seeing his offended expression, Ryuji can’t help but laugh. Never before had Akira lost his cool in front of him, and _god,_ watching his calm, collected expression morph into something like that makes it so much funnier. Usually, the one to lose their temper is Ryuji himself.

“No offense, but it’s just… you’re so knowledgeable, and it kinda reminds me of Shiho’s old gramps.”

“I’m still offended _._ ”

“Loosen up, old man!”

There’s fire in the spirit’s eyes, and he tells him that he looks cute when he’s riled up like this. Surely the saying ‘looks can be deceiving’ is something that had been taken from Mentos...Merento-- whatever that place is called.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a pleasant evening--the air is cool and crisp and leaves are falling off trees. To him, autumn is like a second spring where every leaf is a flower.

The sounds of autumn are unmistakable: the sounds of dry leaves being blown along the street, and the chatter of villagers gathered at the main square where the major events are taking place.

After months of anticipation, the annual harvest festival has begun. There are families with screaming children, couples young and old joined to the hip as well as boisterous friend groups having competitions over who could eat their share of food the fastest.

Looking down at the lively humans in their festive mood, Akira yawns loudly. Today he’s taken a form invisible to them and is floating far up in the sky. It’s been quite some time since he’s been able to observe them like this.

With his community service sentence completed and having the day off today, he’s been looking forward to this day to hang out with Ryuji. Having been extremely busy the past few months, he’s temporarily stopped his visits to the human world. Another reason was to lay low and avoid the watchful eye of the other Disciples (especially a certain one), waiting in the shadows for him to commit one small mistake and it’s back to community service for him. (and he certainly doesn’t need anything else to tarnish his record after the fiasco with his failed first mission).

Under normal circumstances, the violation of unwarranted human interaction would have led to a demotion, but due to Sae’s exceptional ability in persuasion and the trust she had built in him, he had been punished with community service instead, so what’s there to complain about.

Perhaps because he’s in good favour of his superior since long before, he’s never reprimanded for a little recklessness. He has shown signs of remorse for his actions, but after a while, his rebellious nature has taken over and he’s returning to continue relations with humans.

For the most part, Sae had a strict personality and a no-nonsense attitude, but she only softens up to him. Even when he snuck out to visit Ryuji minutes before lights out, she turned a blind eye.

Even today, when he’s openly breaking the law, she might be pretending not to notice.

“There sure is a lot of people today.” Arsene mumbles, floating behind him.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Akira replies with a mocking tone.

“Don’t sass me.”

“It’s not a crime to sass yourself.”

“Have you perhaps heard of the term self love, by any chance?”

“What if I’m a masochist?”

“You’re impossible…”

Akira swats Arsene away as if he were a fly. His Persona glares at him through his mask,  and scoffs before dissolving into blue flames.

He swoops down to a less crowded area and reveals himself. There’s a small patch of dirt on his pants, and he brushes it away before joining the crowd.

Since it’s a small community where everyone knows everyone, it’s no wonder people recognise him; the mysterious, charismatic travelling merchant, even after many months of his absence. Some people approach him and exchange friendly pleasantries and small talk.

He’s having a chat with an old lady about radishes when he notices a turf of blonde hair from the corner of his eye. Quickly wrapping up his current conversation, he makes his way over to him.

“Ryuji!” He calls out easily, eagerly.

Ryuji looks up and grins, boyish dimples making him seem years younger. There’s a hand in his hair, brushing through them absentmindedly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mishima brisk walking towards them with another pale, lanky girl in tow.

“Sorry we’re late!” They say in unison.

“Check it out, I’m early for once!” Ryuji says as if it's the greatest achievement he’s made in his life. The black haired girl shakes her head silently, before looking at Akira from head to toe.

“Do you happen to be Kurusu?” She asks softly, politely.

Akira nods.

“I’ve heard a lot about you from Yuuki-kun and the others. You seem really nice.” She smiles, holding out her palm and they shake hands. She’s delicate, and he fears that if he adds in more strength to his grip, she’ll shatter. “Suzui Shiho. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Shiho--

“So it's your grandfather.”

Her smile quickly turns to a frown. She blinks once, twice. “I’m sorry?”

“ _Someone_ said that I remind him of your grandfather because I act like an old man _.”_

“That was months ago!” Ryuji yells, exasperated.

“You don’t just call someone a wrinkly old man!”

“It’s a joke, jesus!”

“It’s not! Your words cut deep!”

“Learn to take a joke!”

“I considered you a _friend!”_

 

* * *

 

It takes a good amount of food to calm Akira and Ryuji down, and a lengthy explanation for Shiho to reassure her that their bickering had no malicious intent.

(Akira later finds out that Shiho was down with a bad case of the flu during the time when he first arrived, and had only recovered a few weeks ago. Perhaps that explains why she felt so fragile).

They’re seated at a bench, eating snacks and enjoying the atmosphere when they hear a frustrated shout.

“What’s going on?” Shiho asks softly, almost a breathy whisper.

“Who knows, let’s go take a look.” Akira says, and Ryuji is off like the wind, pushing past the continuous flow of people to move closer. What they see is a shooting range stall. Takeshita is holding a model gun meant for shooting the targets, engaging in a shoutin fest with the stall owner.

“This shit’s rigged! I demand a refund!” He yells at the top of his lungs, eyes bulging so wide that they would pop out of their sockets if he weren’t careful.

“S’not my fault you suck at this!” The stall owner is shouting so loudly and quickly, with spittle flying out of his mouth.

At first glance, it appears to be just an ordinary shooting range stall, but upon closer inspection, all of the prizes on display were gorgeous, breathtaking decorations with beautiful and intricate designs.

It isn’t surprising that Takeshita would think the game is rigged, for the rules seem fairly difficult. For one round, the player is given ten rounds of ammunition, one for each target. There’s a large distance to the targets, and furthermore, the targets are small. It would be exceptionally difficult, even for an experienced shooter. And what’s more, it is very costly for one play, so it isn’t something one could try numerous times.

(The entire scene is so childish and silly, it almost makes Akira laugh).

While the two grown men are arguing, he glances at the line of prizes. Although there’s still so much he doesn’t understand about human culture, they are certainly all very eye catching.

Nodding as he looks on, he then notices that Ryuji has his eyes fixed on a single point for some time now. When Akira follows his gaze, he sees a pocket watch with a beautiful butterfly engraving. The graceful butterfly looks like it were in the midst of taking off, as if it were about to pop out of the watch and flutter away.

“Do you want that?”

Unable to pull his eyes away from the watch, Ryuji seems a bit unfocused when he answers. “Uhh, yeah… it’s uhm, really nice.”

Looking around, it seems that many other men and women have their eyes on the watch, just like Ryuji is.

Without showing much interest in the watch, Akira pulls out some paper bills from his pocket (even after studying about monetary value currency in the human world, he still doesn’t understand it much. For some reason, paper bills seem to have more value than gold or silver coins).

“Hey, how many rounds do I get with this?” He holds up a bill with many zeros written on it for the stall owner to see.

“Hm? You want a go?”

“Yeah. This enough?”

“Sure, ‘nuff for one round.”

“Hey, I’m not done talking here!” Takeshita yells, before turning his attention towards Akira and jabs a finger at his chest. “And what the hell do you think you’re doing? Mind your own goddamn business!”

“I just want a round.” Akira tilts his head and tries his best not to grin. Doing so would probably make Takeshita angrier and he doesn’t want to deal with that right now.

With a frustrated sigh, he shoves the model gun at him. “Whatever. You won’t win jack shit, this thing’s rigged anyway.”

 “Shut up. I have a _respectable_ paying customer here.” The stall owner snaps.

“Piss off, you scammer! Just wait till he’s done and he’ll be up on your ass--”

_Bang!_

The sound of the model gun echoes around the square, silencing Takeshita’s voice. The bullet that Akira fires hit target dead centre, causing the crowd to stir slightly.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Two shits, three, four… Without wavering, all toy bullets that are fired are drawn to the exact centre of the targets.

Just a few seconds ago, the target board had not a single scratch, but now, all ten targets have been hit with precise accuracy. All the surrounding onlookers are so stunned by his performance, they forget how to blink.

“I’m done.” Akira declares nonchalantly, drinking in the sight of a tomato faced Takeshita and the shocked expression on the stall owner’s face.

“Holy effin _shit_!”

“Kurusu! That was _amazing!_ ”

His friends rush up to him, their eyes filled with nothing but awe and admiration. Ryuji threw his arms around his shoulder, squeezing them with so much force that might crack his bones if he tries. Akira cheeks redden and he panics, the model gun suddenly feeling so much heavier than it did before.

“Uhm…”

“Dude, you’re effin awesome!”

Akira feels his heart throbbing loudly, violently, unsure if it’s from the adrenaline or having so many eyes on him or--

“Could I… uh… have that one?” According to the rules, since he’d hit all ten targets, he should receive any prize that he wants.

He points at the pocket watch that everyone had been staring at with glittery eyes.

“Yeah, s-sure… you got it.”

The stall owner, still in a daze, begins packing up the watch that is supposedly the most remarkable of all prizes. Takeshita seems to have broken out of his trance and continues to throw insults at the stall owner.

In Takeshita’s defence, the guns sights were indeed tampered with and its air pressure is reduced so that many shots would bounce off the target paper, but Akira doesn’t bother to tell Takeshita this as he walks off with his prize while being seen off by the cheers from onlookers.

 

* * *

 

“Haah, there sure were a lot of people…”

Pushing through the crowd, they head towards the quieter area of the village, sitting down on a cluster of rocks to rest their weary legs. The sun begins its journey down the horizon, the lower half of the sky painted in a deep shade of orange-yellow.

“Here.”

Akira places the pocket watch in Ryuji’s palm. The blonde seems surprised at the heaviness of it.

“You’re giving this to me?”

He stares intently at the watch in his palm as though he could find the answers of the universe in it.

“Didn’t you want this watch? Or did I get the wrong one?”

“S’not what I meant. It’s really cool and all, but since you won it, I think you should have it.”

Ryuji pushes the watch back to Akira’s hands. But Akira doesn’t have any interest in it in the first place.

“I won it for you, dumbass. Take it.”

“Uh, well, I’m uh…it’s not that! Uh...”

“Just take the watch already. You two can have your lovers squabble elsewhere.” Shiho suddenly speaks up, playfully rolling her eyes.

_“What.”_

“I don’t need that label on me!”

She shrugs her shoulders exasperatedly. “Whatever you say.”

This wasn’t the Shiho I met earlier, Akira thinks, still flustered at her comment.

Ryuji rubs the back of his neck, refusing to look at Akira in the eye. There’s a weird tickling feeling in his gut, as if he had something bought for him just because he’d selfishly say he wants it, as if he were a spoiled child. When he was still young, his Ma had bought him a toy he wanted, in much the same way. He’s not good at all with being spoiled like this.

“Thanks man… I’ll uh, keep it safe.”

He brushes his thumb gently over the engraving. It’s selfish, taking something that he doesn’t deserve in the slightest, but if this is what selfishness feels like, he decides he’d try being selfish and depend on Akira just a little more.

  


 


	2. part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there he is. And there. And there. He is imprisoned in these walls.

“Can’t I sneak in one episode?”

“No.”

“What about one minute?”

“No.”

“What about just the opening music?”

“No.”

Futaba throws her arms in the air and let out a strangled cry. “You’re no fun at all! Bring me back the Akira I know and love!”

“If we fail this mission again, I’m pinning the blame on you.”

“You wouldn’t…!”

Akira ignores her and leaps down on the tiled roof. “I think a Shadow’s somewhere over here. Futaba, locate its coordinates.”

She grumbles something about cockblocking while opening her P.A.D. The map of the town shows on her screen along with numbers on the top right that are constantly changing, never staying at a fixed value (as smart as he is, he can never hope to understand the deeper mechanics of Futaba's embedded GPS).

 

> _40° 26′ 46″ N 79° 58′ 56″ W_

 

He makes a sharp turn right, into a short lane, where he sees a Shadow hiding in the shadows (hah) cast by the buildings in the harsh afternoon sun. It looks at him for a second or two before making a mad dash into the alleyway.

With Akira hot on his trial, he chases after it through the endless network of alleyways. They occasionally pass by a human or two who seem to enjoy spending their time lurking in dark damp places like these, leaving behind a trail of dust in their wake.

With Futaba acting as support by basically being his live map, it doesn’t take him long to corner the shadow at a dead end. It turns around to glare at him like a cornered stray dog, and for a split second Akira feels sorry for it.

But there’s no time to be soft to the enemy. It’s either the Shadow’s death or his demotion to a Circulator (life as a caged bird, to be permanently stationed in Mementos is too horrible, too painful to contemplate).

Akira cocks his gun and points it at the crouching Shadow, focused and unwavering. This time he’s stocked up on recovery potions and adhesives, no way in hell is he going to let history repeat itself.

“You’re mean.” The Shadow whines. It looks at Akira with half lidded eyes.

It is answered with warning shot. It trembles, but not in fear.

“You know, two against one is unfair.”

Arsene is already poised next to him, his black wings ruffled and the blue fire surrounding him is boiling hot. He casts a Freidyne and aims it at the pitiful Shadow and--

And misses.

“You’re pretty good.” The Shadow says softly, airily.

A Shadow is mocking him. _A Shadow is mocking him aShadowis--_

“Look out!” Futaba yells, but it’s too late. The Shadow that was mocking him earlier had vanished. Akira only has the time to look around for less than a second before he’s being showered with ice spells.

He panics, but he finds himself frozen in place, vulnerable and helpless. He tries to think of something, anything, but it’s hard to do so when you’re petrified and your vision is being clouded by stars. It’s hard to do _anything,_ really, when he chances a look at the sky, at the clouds that aren’t so white anymore-- no, what he finds instead are huge, beady yellow eyes that stare back at him with a wide grin, teeth well sharpened, ready to eat, ready to consume him.

Amidst the chaotic mess that is his world, he hears Futaba yelling at him to stand up for a counterattack. The stars disappear, along with the beady yellow eyes and the mouth that was only seconds away from tearing his flesh apart, and he stands up. He’s a little disorientated, but quickly regains his composure to come face to face with not one, not two, but a huge group of Shadows grinning at him.

If he was angry before, he is _seething_ now.

The Shadows begin to cast another ice spell, but not before Akira casts Megidolaon and the world violently shakes and all that he sees is white.

Soon the world regains its colours, with its only survivor sprawled pitifully on the ground, coughing.

The gun is once again aimed at the Shadow, but now it’s so weak and on the verge of death, he wouldn’t be surprised if a tap on its head would be enough to kill it.  “Huhuhu… you got me there. Hehe… but before you kill me, there’s one thing I’d like to ask.”

“Tell me, why are you spirits so stupid?”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Akira asks, voice low and dangerous.

“You seem really surprised… not without reason I suppose. After all, you Spirits are almost idiotically blind with your faith.”

This Shadow had a death wish; he’s certain of it.

“You’re an idiot. Your kind can’t even think for themselves, it’s--”

_Bang!_

The bullet shoots clean through its skull and it ceases to speak, its remains sinking into the cracks of the ground.

“Great work!” Futaba leaps off her Persona and gives Akira a high-five. “Now we don’t have to worry about getting demoted!”

There’s a hot, dry breeze that tousle their hair, blowing dust and dirt on their faces. Futaba is talking about dinner now; she’s craving ramen for no other reason than the restaurant scene she saw on Featherman Rangers that morning.

She doesn’t talk about the Shadow’s dying words and neither will he (because a good soldier never wavers, a good soldier never doubts). Instead, she talks about the side of crispy dumplings she’s going to get with her ramen.

 

* * *

 

Akira is lying on his bed, flicking through video after video, the flashing colours blurring before his eyes.

_‘Tune in this noon! For Mysterious of The Lost!’_

There’s a woman sitting on a couch. She looks like an older, skinnier version of Ann: pale blonde hair, fair skin and pearly white teeth.

“Welcome, fellow audience! My name’s Margaret, your host for the day.” Her voice is sharp and soothing at the same time. “Today I’m here with our very special guest, Theodore.”

She points her hands at his direction and smiles.

“Thank you! I’m Theodore, but please, feel free to call me Theo.” I am the head Circulator with at least two thousand and sixty seven years in experience.”

Two thousand and sixty seven years? He sure is getting on in his years.

“Theo, earlier today I was reading a book that compares building and losing trust through a jar of marbles. It’s like this: when someone demonstrates trustworthiness, we add marbles to the jar. If they betray our trust, we pull marbles out. The safety of the relationship depends on how many marbles are in the jar over time. What do you think?”

“Well, when we think about betrayal in terms of the marble jar metaphor, most of us think of someone we trust doing something so terrible that it forces us to grab the jar and dump out every single marble. What’s the worst betrayal of trust? Them lying about where your snacks went. Your friend choosing someone to hang out with over me. Someone using my vulnerability against me. All terrible betrayals, definitely, but there is a particular sort of betrayal that is more insidious and equally corrosive to trust.”

“Oh?” Margaret leans forward.

“In fact, this betrayal usually happens long before the other ones. I’m talking about the  betrayal of disengagement. Of not caring. Of letting the connection go. Of not being willing to devote time and effort into your faith.”

“It all boils down to the betrayal of God.”

“You speak the words right out my mouth, Margaret.” Theo adjusts his glasses. “No matter how strong we are, betrayal hurts; if not checked, can paralyze us into depressive inertia, and at worst, into a perpetual state of bitterness and apathy. God tells us to build up our strength in union with God and by means of His power.” He then reaches to his collar to adjust his tie.

“Put on all the armour that God gives you so that you will be able to stand up against the wicked spiritual forces in the heavenly world, the ruling authorities and cosmic powers of this Dark Age! So, put on God’s armour now! Then when the evil day comes, you will be able to resist the enemy’s attacks; and if it calls for a fight, you will be able to stand on your--”

Akira closes the video and clicks on another one. It’s a Featherman Ranger season 6 episode compilation. Halfway through the video his eyelids begin to grow heavy.

‘All personnel available are to report to the Assembly Hall.’

He finds himself lying face first on the bed when the intercom rouses him from sleep, his mind gluey and his mouth parched.

‘Will all available personnel report to the Assembly Hall immediately.’

Crawling out of bed to look at himself in the mirror, he can clearly see the wrinkles of his dress shirt from every angle with his hair sticking out in all directions.

“Hurry up,” Futaba hisses from the doorway, watching a stream of Soul Vendetta on her P.A.D. “You know what’ll happen if we arrive late!”

Throwing an agonised glance at the mirror, he finger combs his hair and scurries to catch up with her. They march together through the hallways, past the lecture halls and meeting rooms until the gather at the Assembly Hall. The logo of Mementos is etched proudly at the proscenium arch, along with a decently sized portrait on a wall to the left. A huge majority of seats have already been taken.

At the very centre of the stalls, Ann waves at them, petting at two empty seats next and in front of her. Futaba immediately flies over to the seat next to Ann.

Akira hears Ann gasp in horror as he takes his seat. “You look like _crap._ Are you okay? What happened?”

“S’tired, fell asleep…” His throat feels like its rubbing on sandpaper.

“Wha?”

The screech of a microphone snuffles the chatter in the hall. Onstage, there’s Margaret on the podium, with Elizabeth and Theodore on the far right of the stage.

“Good evening. I am terribly sorry for making all of you arrive on such short notice, but there is an urgent matter that we need to inform you of.” She shifts through her notes on her P.A.D with hurried swipes of her finger. “We have just received reports of psychotic breakdown and mental shutdown cases all across the Rostrea region. Not one, not two, but a total of three hundred and sixty eight individual cases in the span of a week.”

Even the younger Spirits who had been conversing among themselves look up. Three hundred and sixty eight in a week? That must be a new record.

“We believe that this is a warning from the Shadows. The only time that this has happened on a large scale was during the Twenty Third Shadow War. Thus, we need to remain vigilant and stand our guard, least it be broken down and another major war is to break out.”

The entire hall begins to stir. He can feel Futaba kicking his seat from behind.

“Hey, does that mean we’re going to have more missions from now on?”

 

* * *

 

“Stay where you are, #1120.” A stern voice tells Akira as the other Spirits file out of the hall. Ann and Futaba give him a pitying glance on their way out. (If she calls you by your serial number, you know you’ve done something terribly, horribly wrong).

“Why is your outfit in such a sorry state?”

He looks down at his crumpled dress shirt. He’d forgotten that he did not change into more fitting attire.

“How pathetic.” She leans forward ever so slightly, her brows furrowed and her red lips carved into a scowl. “Had I made the wrong choice to not demote you?”

“No, ma’am.” Akira cups his hands together and keeps his head bowed.

“Did you really think that I wasn’t going to notice? With your sloppy appearance you stand out like a sore thumb amongst your peers. Tell me, is perhaps your duties too much for you to handle?”

Akira bites his bottom lip. “I assure you, I’m having no trouble whatsoever.”

Sae sighs, pressing two fingers to her forehead. There are dark circles under her eyes despite the thick layer of concealer she applied, and her face heavy with layers of foundation. Had she always looked this tired?

“Next time, I won’t tolerate such unprofessionalism. Wear proper attire, or don’t show up at all. Pretty simple logic to me.”

He nods, praying to himself that she’d finish her lecture and leave.

She sighs again, and this time her eyes soften--she hadn’t left yet, but the change of mood is welcoming--even if it’s just a little bit. “I’m glad to hear it. But if you ever find yourself overworked, you can always approach me. I don’t want you collapsing again in the middle of the hallway.”

Memories that he’d thought he’d suppressed begin to resurface. His ears turn red.

“With all due respect, you could say that for yourself, ma’am.”

She clicks her tongue. “Don’t sass me. The sheer number of cases I have on my hands are driving me up the wall.” She then fiddles with her fingernails, coated with deep, dark purple nail polish. “Of course you’ll be getting more missions. Everyone’s going to work double the shifts; it’s not just about you, you know.”

“I am aware. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“You’re only a hundred and thirty. Stop complaining.”

There’s something ephemeral about the situation, about a Disciple and her junior having a conversation at an empty hall, about more workloads, dress codes and a possible major war.

 

* * *

 

  


 

 

 

> _The 23rd Shadow War was a conflict that lasted from AC 52 to AC 138 between the Mementos forces against the Shadows. The conflict began as a result of a huge influx of mental shutdowns mainly in the Metaverse region as a genocide of all of the Lord’s followers. The war was proven to be the most destructive of all the wars that had come before it and after, with the outcome being the Shadow’s victory and severely crippled Mementos forces._
> 
>  
> 
> _-Audio Book of the Weiss Fairytale, <<Yaldabaoth>> _
> 
>   
> 

 

 

 

 

Another mission? So soon?

He’d been expecting it, but he still wants to complain. He wants to watch more Featherman Ranger episodes till he loses track of time and passes out on his bed. But soldiers don’t complain, oh no they don’t.

“I heard you got your internet usage cut off.” Futaba comments, floating beside him with her hands behind her back. Out of politeness, she doesn’t open any MyWeb tabs on her P.A.D.

“Yea.” Akira replies with an unamused tone. He can still recall Sae slicing his protests like a hot knife through butter. _‘That means--no SNS, no MyWeb, no streaming, nothing. That’s what you get for tardiness.’_

“We can watch streams on mine.” She leans forward and whispers beside his ear, as if afraid of someone else overhearing them. “The thirty seventh episode of Soul Vendetta is on tonight.”

He stops fidgeting and looks at her in the eye. “Promise?”

“Absolutely.”

They’re at Elfdell, Rostrea’s capital city. In the distance, he can make out the silhouette of the city’s largest church towering over the other buildings. Its walls are pristine white, reflecting the bright afternoon sunlight. The church’s bells chime a pleasant melody.

Everyone back at Mementos are constantly on high alert, from the increasing number of security cameras to the increasing number of patrols in the human world. The tension is thick in the air, and the number of psychotic breakdown and mental shutdown cases keep on coming like water out of a dam.

Circulators continue working in their cubicles, Fighters continue their patrols, and Disciples continue overseeing administrative matters with permanent scowls on their faces.

Futaba taps idly on her P.A.D, eyes briefly flickering over to the coordinate values on the top right of the screen. She hums to the tune of the Featherman Rangers’ opening song, sighing in boredom.

“More Shadows, my ass. We’re five hours in our patrol and we haven’t even encountered one!”

“Maybe they’re taking a break.” Akira says as a joke.

“Yea, right. If they were on a break they wouldn’t be out preying on humans.” Futaba says like it’s obvious.

“How’s Ann and Makoto doing?” Akira asks, peering over at his partner’s screen as she scrolls through her SNS logs.

“I’ve sent them each a message two hours ago and they haven’t even read them yet.” She stretches her arms and yawns. “Safe to say they’re having fun kicking Shadow butt, or they’re dead.”

He snaps his head to the side to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Don’t worry.” Futaba brushes him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I can still sense their signals.”

“Don’t freak me out like that.”

She giggles. “Are you that worried that they can’t handle a few Shadows by themselves? Makoto-senpai was ranked #1 in her classes!”

Makoto, the prim and perfect student and soldier that everyone aspires to be. No matter how much Akira tries, he can never dethrone her from her #1 role.

Futaba grumbles in annoyance as the robotic speech plays for the fifth time from her P.A.D’s speakers. _I give myself up for the good of the Lord. I give myself up for the good of my fellow comrades. I give myself up for the good of the world._

“This is so annoying.” She huffs, playing with a strand of her hair.

“How many times have we heard this?” Akira asks.

“They play it every time before you watch a video or a stream. Why can’t they created a skip button for it?”

Maybe it’s because they don’t want anyone skipping it. How surprising.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve picked up something!” Futaba says much, much later.

Akira immediately springs up from his lying position on the concrete roof shingles, looking over her shoulders to look at the screen only to see--

Nothing.

“Huh? But I was sure--”

“Very funny. You actually got me right there.” Akira comments, turning around to return back to his original resting spot

“No!” Futaba yells in annoyance, her voice going an octave higher. “There was a signal somewhere northeast! I don’t know why it’s gone!”

“Maybe another pair took care of that Shadow.” He covers his mouth when he feels a yawn creeping up his throat.

“No one else is stationed within fifty miles besides us!”

“Maybe your P.A.D’s malfunctioning.”

“I just had it checked a few days ago and everything was fine!”

“Maybe you’re just tired.”

“No I’m _not--_ hey! There’s two signals now!”

There are two green dots flashing on the screen. They’re in a pair and dancing around something before they begin to flicker for a few seconds, their signals growing weaker and weaker until the two dots vanish completely from the map.

It comes to their realisation that perhaps something--or someone-- is eliminating Shadows. But they can’t place their trust in whoever's doing the killing yet, one can never be sure (trust is a finicky little thing; you’d never know until they drop their pretense and stab you in the back).

Thus begins their hunt for this elusive being, their little goose chase to find the mysterious shadow killer.

Akira himself cannot say that he has the greatest sense of direction, for he is ever so grateful for Futaba being his personal navigator, even if she’s yelling different coordinate numbers every few seconds.

He loses track of the number of times he’s had to change his course of direction. This person moves extremely fast, and the fact that they’re such a challenge to catch makes him grin, pumping blood in his veins so fast he feels like they’d burst any second now.

To say that they were surprised to find their target standing in a dead end alleyway like a sitting duck, was an understatement.

“Had fun?” The person drawls.

Akira finds himself staring at a young man, probably his age with brown hair that’s slightly longer than his own. His voice is sweet, the sickly kind of sweet that makes you gag and his outfit is black from head to toe, skin tight and hugging his lean frame. The most prominent feature about him however, is the black, pointed mask that conceals his pretty face from the rest of the world.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Akira asks, taking a small step forward. He knows he’s no ordinary human, not with that mask on his face.

The man chuckles at this. “Getting straight to the point, eh? While I do like your forwardness, don’t you think it’s pretty rude to speak to me like this when you’re the ones chasing me around?”

“Huh? Wanted?” Futaba says in disbelief as a pop up message appears on her screen. “Annihilation recommended?”

The pieces slowly begin to come together. There’s no doubt that the young man standing in front of him is--

 _“Mementos to #1120 and #0219. We’ve picked up a signal from a Lost known as #0602. The person standing before you is your enemy.”_ The man’s smile grows wider upon hearing it, as if he enjoys his title as a deserter.

_“Do not be fooled by his appearance. He has killed multiple pursuit soldiers. Now kill him before he kills you!”_

For a moment, none of them move a muscle.

“So? Are you going to kill me, or are you just going to stand there?” The man asks, calm and polite, as if he were asking for a cup of coffee, and not challenging them to end his life in a dark alley.

Akira takes the first attack by reaching out for his gun and shooting at him in the face, or at least that's where the bullet is supposed to hit, only for him to dodge it with grace that can only belong to a seasoned Fighter.

The black mask continues to dodge a huge majority of his attacks, almost as if he were performing an intricate dance. Even when Akira manages to lay an hand on him, the attack only chips away a pathetic amount of his health.

It's embarrassing, but it's something that Akira expects to happen. If this man was able to survive this long and avoid capture by killing all his pursuers, there's no doubt that he's not a foe to be messed with.

The battle drags on and on and on, Akira wonders if he's going to die here along with Futaba. So far, the black mask had made no attempt to attack--it’s as if he were prolonging the fight on purpose-- but it’s only a matter of time before he grows bored of running away and decides to strike back. With the way he’s been looking at him, Akira can only wonder what he has in store, what tricks he’s going to pull out from behind that sweet, sweet smile.

His brain is telling him to retreat, to runaway and never look back. He's fighting a battle he can't win. The only thing keeping him here is his own ego, and he hates it.

They're now on a rooftop of a rather large and busy building, with people filing in and out of the doors, oblivious to the fight going on above them; a clash between egos.

The man finally rips off his own mask and he’s engulfed in red flames. Towering behind him is something he’d call a cryptid-- an uncanny grin, horns for eyes, black and white. Everything about him, even down to the aura radiating around him that screams _danger,_ yet Akira does not run (not that he’s brave or honourable; he knows that if he tries to run he’s going to be killed either way so why bother).

The black mask yells a command, the cryptid raises its hand and swings it down like a guillotine, and for a moment it really feels like his neck had been sliced clean. His vision meets the ground, hazy and blurry.

 

Akira hears the sound of Futaba’s worried screams, almost to the point of hysteria. The Persona continues grinning at him, almost as if taunting him from a distance.

Despite being only one hundred and sixty years, that has never stopped Akira from thinking about his death. His much, much younger self had thought that if he were to die, he wanted it to be honourable (like that one character in Featherman Ranger who sacrificed himself after being captured by the enemy in order to protect his friends and his organisation). Looking back, he realises how naive he was as a child and he can’t help but laugh, but only strangled moans escape his lips.

In the end, he’s just another addition to the black mask’s kill count. Black blotches rapidly cloud his vision, his breathing become shallower every passing second, the tip of his fingers grow cold and--

And a warm shower of green begins raining down on his body.

Futaba’s no longer screaming, his body no longer hurts and the black mask’s Persona is no longer there. The mask is back on the man’s face and he’s no longer smiling, but this time he’s not preparing for another attack, instead he’s kneeling besides him, holding a small glass bottle in his hands.

“I don’t know if I should compliment you for being brave enough to stand against me, or stupid, considering how weak you are.” Akira feels the sudden urge to slap him.

“Why are you doing this? You’re the enemy, you betrayed us.” Akira asks, staring at him straight in the eyes, almost expecting to find the answers of the universe in it, the reasons for his desertion.

The man’s expression sobers until there’s almost nothing there except for cool detachment, as if he can’t even be bothered to pretend in front of him anymore. “No, your faith is deceiving _you_.”

His tone is cool and detached, any hint of charisma that he showed earlier is now gone. He gives him a somewhat wistful look before he stands up and flies away, leaving as quickly as he came.

(Akira could wake up the next day and think of all this as a dream, if not for the small glass bottle that he left behind).

 

* * *

 

  
  


 

 

“Come on, help me out here.”

“Why?” Makoto looks up from the article she’s reading and gives him a sideway glance.

“Today’s an important day and I can’t miss it! I already promised I’d go.”

“Then you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I thought it was my day off today.” Except he knew fully well that he had an entire day’s worth of work even before agreeing.

“What am I supposed to do?” She turns to face him, sending him a look, the kind that she used to send him all the time when they were still students and he would say something that lacked tact. He should be used to it by now.

“Just say yes? Futaba and Ann already agreed to the arrangement.” He says like it’s obvious.

Instead she shakes her head. “How irresponsible can you be? You’re a soldier, your duties are your number one priority. Instead you choose to neglect them all for the sake of some party--”

“Ann and I are just taking over each other’s shifts!” He’s quickly beginning to lose his patience. “How is that slacking?”

“There wouldn’t be the need for this arrangement if you just turned down the invitation!”

“But I can’t--”

In a fit, she stands up, hurling her P.A.D to a corner of the room with so much force it snaps into two. “What’s so goddamn important about that human anyway? What’s so special about him that you have to drop everything you’re doing just to see him?”

She’s never been this irate before, she’s never been angry to the point where she’d break things. She doesn’t have anger issues, no she doesn’t; soldiers don’t lose their temper.

“That’s none of your concern!” He shoots out of his seat, as if the mere mention of that human flipped a switch inside of him, which was probably the case. His face is red, with embarrassment or anger, she doesn’t know.

His mouth is set into a determined line and she knows that it would be no use in trying to wring any answers out of him. Knowing him, once his mind is made up there’s no turning back. She knows this, and yet--

“Why do you care about humans so much?”

Perhaps it’s the way that she paraphrased it which made it easier for Akira to answer her question. “I just think… it’s pretty interesting to observe them. They resemble us in some ways, yet their way of living is completely different. Aren’t you a _little_ curious though?”

“No.” Why would she give any time of the day to care for humans? They’re inferior in every aspect--physically, mentally, emotionally, culturally. Spirits are meant to oversee and protect humans, not to be directly involved with them. The two species are never meant to coexist, no, it was never that way and never will be.

Sometimes she wished humans never existed. Because ever since Akira had finally graduated from his role as a student, when he’s handed with his first mission that made his heart race and all those late nighters meaningful, that human--

He’s already found the one that captures his attention, the mystery he wants to unravel, the knowledge he’s always been after. And she’s left with only the shell of a boy--her adversary--with only half the passion and half the drive and half the attention.

“Can’t you just meet up with him another time?” Her tone is now more calm, composed, just like how a #1 soldier is meant to be. “Must it be today?”

“If I could just rearrange it, why would I be even talking to you?” Akira replies, he says in a snide tone, the kind that he’d use whenever his patience has worn thin.

“I can’t just let you do whatever you please. If I don’t set the boundaries straight, who knows how many more shifts you’ll skip.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t ‘whatever’ me. If you’re so insistent on going, I can’t stop you. But don’t come running to me when the Disciples catch onto your behaviour and send you to Quarantine.” She taunts him, frustrated at his stubbornness, frustrated at Ann and Futaba for enabling him.  “Not that I care if you do.”

 _Yes, you do._ Her subconsciousness says knowingly. _You do._

 

* * *

 

“You seem upset.” Shiho comments, looking at him like a concerned mother. “Is something troubling you?”

Akira blinks once, twice, before touching his cheek. And to think that he was hiding his frustration pretty well.

“Man, you don’t like my party?” Ryuji appears out of nowhere and slings his shoulder over Akira’s. “I know you probably have better ones back home, but _ouch_ , my feelings are hurt.”

“It’s not… that’s not it.” Akira shakes his head. “I just had… uh… a small disagreement with my family earlier. Sorry to dampen the mood.”

“Oh dear, I hope it wasn’t anything too bad...” Shiho is as polite as ever.

“Maybe some food will cheer you up! Ryuji then proceeds to shove a plate of roasted meat--probably boar--in his face, not that he minded, he’s craving some meat anyways.

It’s a rather warm evening--even after the sun is no longer high in the sky the air is still hot, and the breeze, if you can even call it, is still permeated with heat. Akira hates summers, and if it were not for the birthday party, he would be soaking in an ice cold bath right now.

(Yet, even if the party were to be held in the sweltering desert miles away from an oasis, he’d still sacrifice that ice cold bath to attend. As long as it’s for Ryuji, he’d do anything, really).

There’s plates and plates of food on the table, probably enough to keep a family of four fed well for a week, along with pots of flowers and colourful wool streamers decorating the house. Many people that Akira did not recognise are gathered at the party, chatting and eating to their heart's content. Come to think of it, since when did Ryuji make so many friends?

That or either the people are here only for the food (it’s a sad, sad thought and Akira rightfully keeps it to himself). But a part of him understands why--the food served is nothing short of delicious.

“Since when did your mother cook such delicious food?” Akira asks while helping himself to mouthfuls of meat.

“You saying my Ma’s cooking skills used to be shit?” Ryuji says in mock exasperation, as if it were an insult directed at him.

Akira thinks back to the first meal he had with them, bland and tasteless. “Probably.”

“I’m telling her you said that.”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re mean.”

Ms Sakamoto is talking to the other housewives next to the window, giggling at each other’s jokes like young girls. They all collectively compliment her cooking, and she goes pink with pleasure.

 

* * *

 

“Kurusu, if you keep sighing like that, you’ll ruin your pretty face~”

“It’s not like that.” Akira shovels more food in his mouth, trying to block her out.

“Geez, you’re so cold. But maybe it’s the reason why everyone loves you.” Mika sighs, airy and dazed. He has no idea why she does that. Maybe human males like it?

Akira has gone through five plates of food. Unlike humans, he cannot feel full, and he takes full advantage of this fact. Unfortunately for Mishima, he is very much human, and had to leave early after eating way more than he can handle with Shiho escorting him, continuously rubbing his back in small, firm circles.

With his two friends gone and Ryuji off entertaining the other guests, he’s stuck with a blushing Mika who can’t stop complimenting him on everything he does and says. He takes the first few compliments with a kind smile, but after awhile it becomes overbearing and he wants nothing more than to shove his head in the dirt, if it means not having to hear her singing praises at him.

“Oh, but still, black does certainly suit you. Yes, yes it does… very lovely…”

Her face is red and her speech is slowly becoming more slurred. So this is what being ‘drunk’ looks like.

“I guess. Don’t really feel any different than usual though...”

“Oh, but that’s not true at all! You look completely different! Ahh… although, if possible, I would’ve like dressing you myself~” She laments with a downcast expression before going on and on about her occupation as a seamstress.

Ignoring her rambling, Akira pours himself another cup of wine and drains it all in one gulp. Mika watches as he wipes away a stray drop from his chin (if Makoto were here, she’d scold him for his unrefined behaviour).

“What is it this time?”

“N-no, it's nothing. Um… I just thought you're quite.. heh... unique. Ah! Speaking of which, I didn't know you're such a heavy drinker…”

“When have I ever said I wasn't?”

“Ahhh, well certainly, you haven't, but… how should I put this… hmm… it's kinda surprising considering the cute face you have~”

“Saying I'm cute is unnecessary.”

Slamming his empty glass down on the table, he casts his gaze towards Ryuji and a girl he’s never bothered to learn the name of, talking and laughing and being too close to each other for his liking. She’s pretty, he’ll give her that, and Ryuji likes pretty girls. It’s no surprise, and yet--

He can’t explain why there’s a prickly, pained feeling in his heart, like it was being rolled over by a cactus’ thorns. He didn’t like it, seeing him getting along and talking with someone other than himself. There are occasions where he’d prioritise other people over him, and that’s fine because humans have their relationships and spirits had theirs. But still--

A wave of guilt runs through him. Stop, Akira, you’re probably just tired. Don’t think too much about it, just sit back and drink more, isn’t this place known for its wine? Just look away and look at Mika instead. Maybe if you look back after a longgggg while she might be gone--

“Are you okay?” The voice is gentle and familiar and in his stupor, he recognises it belonging to Ms Sakamoto. She’s giving him a look that she’d give to her son whenever she’s worried about him.

Akira answers with a series of quick, short nods. “Just a little tipsy, that’s all.”

Her giggles are akin to the tinkle of bells. “A little? I’ve seen you drinking at least six glasses by now. I’m not sure if I should be impressed or scared.”

“Heeehhhhee… he’s goooood! Never seen someone _hic_ drink so much in my LIFE.” Mika punctuates the end of her sentence by slamming her fists on the wall. Sometimes Akira forgets how scary Mika can get, especially a drunk Mika.

(Maybe if he drinks enough he can become as drunk and unhinged as her and forget about patrol shifts, nameless pretty girls, and maybe, just maybe, forget how to feel).

 

* * *

 

The moon is high in the sky and the party is reaching its end. He’s lying on the roof of the Sakamoto household, chugging down his twentieth glass for the night.

He’d drink more, but he didn’t want to deplete the village’s winery while on his quest to become intoxicated. It’s probably impossible for him to do so, just like how it’s impossible for him to feel hungry or full so why should he bother.

Sitting upright, he notices Ryuji loitering outside his backyard. He tosses his glass away and leaps off the roof, landing with a loud thud that startled the blonde.

“Oh, there you are. I was wondering where you ran off to.”

“Has everyone left already?” Even though he isn’t and shouldn’t be drunk at all, for some reason, his tone comes out as harsh. Would he think that he was in a bad mood the entire time?

Instead of questioning his sudden harsh attitude, Ryuji smiles. “Yeah, I’ve said goodbye to everyone. They all seemed to really like the food, and Ma’s real happy!”

“Hmm, I guess so…”

Akira gives a vague response just to show that he's listening. He has little interest in the subtleties of meticulous expression that humans had. He didn't go out of his way to the human world today to mingle with so many humans.

What he wants to know is something different.

“Hey, you know... that girl you hanged out a lot with…”

 _That girl, that girl that had been by your side for almost the entire duration of the party. Who the hell is she?_ He wonders what would his reaction be if he said that to him in the sharp tone he's using right now.

She didn’t seem like a bad person. In fact, she’s just a normal human girl and human boys get along with human girls, so why does he feel discomfort seeing them together, much less talking about her? In his long life as a spirit, it's his first time feeling this way.

“Oh yeah, I didn't tell you before, did I?” Ryuji looks down at the ground and rubs the back of his neck. “You see… we're kinda, uh… you see, my dad and Ichiko's dad used to be close friends, so they thought it would be a great idea for the both of us to get together when we grew up.”

“So you mean… marriage?” Akira asks even though knowing the answer to his question.

His bitter tone might have shown in his expression, as Ryuji’s making a puzzled expression. “We're still only engaged, so... not married just yet, but Ma really wishes for it, sooo I was thinking we'd discuss about it tomorrow or something.”

He talks about it so casually as if Akira's supposed to be okay with it. It makes his blood boil.

“Do you love that person?”

Although he's not very well-versed on human customs, even a spirit is aware that marriage is something that took place between two people that loved one another.

“I dunno man…”

He can feel heat rising in his face. “You don't know, and yet you're getting married?”

“Yea…”

“Why?” He can feel his voice growing louder with every word that leaves his mouth. “Don't you find it strange, tying the knot with someone you may not even love?”

“Listen, it ain't always about me!”

It's the first time he's heard Ryuji raise his voice at him; it's unnerving.

“My Ma loves me a lot. After my dad kicked the bucket, she wanted nothing more than for me to have a stable, loving marriage. All these years she's been raising me by herself and sacrificing so much for me, I can't just defy her.” There's a hint of fondness in his voice. “She's my ma, she knows what's best for me. Ichiko is a wonderful person, and my ma thinks so too. I wanna raise a happy family and give her the happiness that was denied of her when she was with my dad.”

“If that's the case, then don't just rush into a forced marriage!”

“But the fact that I'm still living a decent life is because of Ma. She could've abandoned me, sold me off, but she didn't.” His voice is shaking. “That's why I can't defy my ma. I won't let her suffer anymore. I just want her to be happy… be happy…”

He's never seen Ryuji so vulnerable before. Seeing him open himself up and sharing with him his raw, unfiltered feelings made his heart ache.

“Hey, uh… is there someone you love, besides your mother?”

Ryuji raises his head at the sudden question, somewhat confused. “Uh… no, don't think so.”

“I don't understand this human expression called love, but… I’ve been told the happiness you find with the person you love is the greatest happiness in your lifetime.” (And Akira can never hope to understand it).

“S'okay. I'm happy. Being raised by my ma, having friends like Mishima and Shiho, being surrounded by the nice folks in the village. And--”

He puts his hand in his pockets and meets Akira's gaze, almost bashful.

“You. You're my best bud, y'know?”

_My Ma, my Ma, my Ma…_

It might be no exaggeration to say that Ryuji's life revolved around his mother. But how can he blame him? He just wants to make his only parent, his only caregiver happy by sacrificing his own happiness in exchange. He hides all his displeasure and painful feelings inside, smiling through everything life throws at him.

His undying loyalty, his bright eyes filled with wonder, his unwavering smile, his everything.

He wants to protect it. He wants to, forever.

Without thinking, he grabs his shirt collar and pulls him into a kiss, a kiss on the lips. It's awkward, desperate, and--

Rough hands on his chest push him away forcefully, with so much force that he stumbles and falls into the ground. Snapping out of his daze, he looks up to see--

Disgust.

The smiling, bashful expression Ryuji had mere seconds ago is gone and replaced with repulsion, repugnance.

Akira's mind is swirling with a cesspool of thoughts, with most of them screaming: _he hates me, he hates me, he never wants to see me again, he hatesmehatesmehatesmehatesme… disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting disgustingdisgustingdisgusting._

He tries to say something, anything, but all that comes out of his mouth are stammers.

Ryuji is still covering his mouth, staring at Akira with, wide, fearful eyes. He takes one step back, two, three.

“Don't come any closer!”

Is this a dream? A nightmare? Why in the Lord's name is he not waking up?

_He hates me. Don't come any closer. Disgusting._

He stands up on shaky feet, turns around and flies away, not bothering, not wanting to look back (because if he does he'll be looking at a pair of eyes that's filled with hate, a pair of eyes that's once filled with love).

(And when he returns to his room, he'll throw something at the mirror. It'll shatter into a million tiny pieces and he'll search for the perfect one, the sharpest one).

 

* * *

 

  
  


 

 

For the past few weeks, he couldn’t sleep. His senses are on overdrive; everything is too loud, too bright. Night after night he lies in bed awake, unblinking. Makoto had always told him that thinking too much prevents one from falling asleep.

He tries to be more controlled, tries to shape his mind into nothingness. But when night rolls in the demons stir, looking around with beady yellow eyes, searching for prey to feed on.

It must be the intercom--it’s too loud and annoying. It plays on an infinite loop, rolling in waves through the dormitories, molding to his skin.

_As a soldier, I must be obedient. As a soldier, I must be loyal. As a soldier, I must be fearless._

The sleeping pills can only disguise the fire in his lungs for so long, before he jerks up again. In the dim lighting of his room, he can only make out the glint of his medicine bottle on his desk. Wriggling out of the tangles of the bedsheets, he hobbles forward to grab the bottle, uncapping it only to find it empty.

How did he burn his supply so fast? Whatever; if there's none he'll just borrow some. Futaba never uses her pills.

The sounds of the night are unmistakable: the low hum of the air conditioner, the nagging voice of the intercom, the synchronised breathing of his fellow spirits. He walks over to the room next to his and gives it one, two knocks. No answer, as expected of a heavy sleeper like her.

He shuffles to the next room and knocks, louder this time. He hears the _tap tap_ of footsteps, the sliding of the automatic door, the surprised gasp that escapes her lips.

“Akira?”

Haru tilts her head, shifting her weight from one foot to another, her knee length nightgown glowing in the shadows.

“Sorry, just need more sleeping pills. You have any?”

“I was worried that you were a Disciple.”

“Sorry.”

“If Ms Sae catches us awake after Lights Out, we’ll be in trouble.”

“It’s fine.”

“Still…”

“She isn’t on duty.”

With a sigh, she steps aside and invites him inside. Her room is exactly the same as his, except it’s more tidy and proper, decorated with vases of artificial flowers. She rummages her desk drawers, retrieving a small glass bottle that he’s been looking for, longing for.

He fumbles with the cap of the bottle, pouring the small white capsules in his palm. A shiver of satisfaction runs through his body as he throws his head back, swallowing them all in one go.

“Did they not issue you enough?”

“Yeah. They forgot.” He doesn’t mention that he’s already on maximum dosage.

“Hmm.” She taps her toes against the cold tiled floor. “So, how’re you doing? I haven’t seen you around a lot.”

“I haven’t been feeling well.”

“I’ve sent you chat requests…” She trails off. For the past month she’s been sending him countless messages. All unanswered.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Is work stressing you out?”

Akira shrugs apathetically.

“Maybe you should talk with Ms Sae. Or Ms Margaret.”

“I’d rather not.”

Haru’s eyes widen a little, but not in surprise. She leans forward. “Is it something to do with the human world then?” She read his mind as always.

“Something like that?” He mutters, his voice so soft he’s struggling to even hear himself in the silent room. “Hey, have you… do you have any interest in them?”

She tilts her head. “Humans? Well, I think they’re really frail existence and we need to constantly watch over them. From the day they are born till the day they die, to always watch over them. Isn’t that our mission? I mean, my job is to watch over the Holy Grail.”

The Holy Grail--a single, huge golden cup that sustains the circulation of life, and is, so to speak, God’s temporary form. It’s filled with blood red souls which will fall to the earth and become the souls of humans. However, rarely, there are times when it will not fall to the earth, and from them, Spirits are born.

When a human or Spirit dies, their soul returns to the cup again through the supply lines, and reborn into a new life. Nothing is for certain with this cycle of the circulation of souls; everything happens by chance.

A life lost today may be born again somewhere the following day, or it will continue to sleep indefinitely inside the cup until the time comes. Circulators merely provide assistance to ensure that this endless cycle is not stopped.

To watch over it and nothing more.

“But sometimes I think to myself, what if…” she pushes the curtains aside to look out of the window. “What if we stopped caring for the Holy Grail, will the circulation of life and death come to a halt, or will it continue to sustain itself? What if humans aren’t as weak as we believe them to be?”

“Aren’t you a little curious?” She says when he doesn’t answer. “Rather, despite being so fragile and simple, leading such fleeting lives compared to us, they shine and do the best they can. Oh... don’t tell anyone I said that.”

It would be a controversial statement coming from a Circulator, or for any spirit. It has always been regarded that without the help of Spirits, humans would not be able to live properly and die. It gives them purpose in their existence; to say otherwise is--

“Uh... do you ever want to come into contact with a human?” Akira holds his breath, waiting for answer.

“Well, since I’m going to be spending my entire life with their souls, I wouldn’t want to come into contact with their ‘containers’; I’m already having enough contact as it is.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, speaking of humans, how’s it going with… uh… Ryuga...no--Ryusei… uhh…”

Having to go through hundreds upon hundreds of human names every day, it’s no surprise that she wouldn’t remember. She has no need to learn the name of an ordinary human.

Haru waits for him to correct her, to tease her, but there’s nothing. Her body stiffens. The silence is overwhelming, jamming their eardrums, and she searches blindly for the trail of their conversation.

“But the thing about humans is--”

“I’m tired. Thanks for the meds.” Akira turns around to leave, ignoring her silent pleas. He’s too tired to entertain her any more.

 

_As a soldier, I must be selfless. As a soldier, I must be devoted. As a soldier, I must be silent._

 

The message continues to play, as if nothing has changed.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, Ryu-kun? I’m afraid he’s out at the moment.”

It’s been a while since he’s been to the village during his free time. Then again, he doesn’t have that much free time anymore.

“That’s fine. You didn’t have to make all this for me.” Akira glances over at the ripe, fresh Aldmoor berries on his plate.

“Nonsense. There’s plenty enough to go around.” She tears a single berry from its cluster and takes a bite. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you. Is work keeping you busy?”

“Yeah… I guess so.” He keeps his answers short and vague, as if he’s deceiving her somehow. While it is true that his shifts are getting much longer and much more demanding, his thoughts have been filled with nothing but Ryuji, giving him a guilty conscience.

“I see. You know, Ryu-kun’s been acting strange lately, so I’ve been wondering if something had happened between you two. Ever since his birthday, you’ve stopped coming as frequently as you used to, after all.”

Akira chews on his food slowly, darting his eyes towards the window, the floor, anywhere but on Ms Sakamoto.

Her lips curves into a smile, clearly amused by his behaviour. “You’re quite easy to read, you know that?”

“I-it’s not…” He’s often teased by his friends for being such an open book, and now Ms Sakamoto is starting to do so as well.

“Well? Did you two have an argument?”

“We didn’t.”

“Then, did you perhaps say something to make things turn sour between you two?”

“I… don’t think so…?”

“Why do you sound so unsure?”

“That’s because--”

_Because I don’t understand human emotions._

“That’s perfectly fine. Human emotions are complicated; Spirits wouldn’t understand.” She says it so casually as if she were talking about the weather, as if it were normal to read someone else’s mind.

“Wh-- _guh...ack!”_

“Oh dear! Are you alright?” Ms Sakamoto rushes towards a red faced Akira as he choked on his food. It takes a while to get the fruit lodged out of his throat, and now he’s holding his hand to his chest, with Ms Sakamoto rubbing small, firm circles on his back.

“How… how did you know? Since when?” Akira asks, wondering how many secrets she has been hiding behind her gentle, dazed smile.

“I already knew from the start.” She replies with a hint of glee in her voice. “I have a third eye along with Ryu-kun, but he doesn’t believe in these things so I never mentioned it.”

For a long, long time, no spirit had ever met a human that possessed a third eye. For a mother and son to both have one is nothing short of a miracle.

“It took some time for Ryuji to figure out my true identity, though.”

“He can be a little dense sometimes, that’s just how he is.”

So was the disgust filled glare that night just perhaps, maybe a part of who he is--

“Uhm, Ms Sakamoto, do you mind if I ask for advice on a certain issue I have?” His voice is low and bashful, almost as if he were afraid of even speaking in front of her. As the kind woman she is, she nods, giving him her trademark gentle smile that calms his nerves.

“It’s… someone I like. Like, really _like like._ Whenever I’m with them, my brain just turns into a pile of mush. Even when I’m not by their side, I can’t stop thinking about them. Whenever they looks at me it feels as if every ounce of my breath is taken from my lungs.” He’s watching, waiting for Ms Sakamoto’s expression to turn into one of repugnance, but it doesn’t (yet).

“I guess I should be ashamed of myself somehow. I'm not supposed to feel this way, spirits aren't made to feel love. Everything feels wrong. I wonder if I've made a mistake…”

For humans, the usual couple consisted of a man and a woman for the sake of reproduction. Although, every once in a while, he’s heard of two people of the same gender being together. But even so, he just can’t see the problem that he, a spirit that appeared to be male, is interested in a human male.

Or did the problem lie in the fact that spirits and humans aren’t compatible?

“I don't think you've made a mistake.”

When he looks up, he sees Ms Sakamoto smiling at him, almost pitifully.

“The most important thing is the quality of the soul. Appearances are nothing more than the ‘container’ which holds the soul.” She looks away for a while, wistfully, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You should live how you want to, and be true to your feelings. After all, you only live once.”

Right now, she seems more wise and solemn than a hundred and thirty year old spirit.

“Although, I’m very happy for Ryu-kun and Ichiko. For the longest time I’ve been so worried that they weren’t compatible, and I was just limiting his options and wasting his time,” she says as she takes another bite of the fruit, a spark of joy in her eyes that only a parent could have. “But after seeing them get along so well during the party, I don’t have to worry anymore.”

Akira fumbles with the edge of his dress shirt, tugging on the loose thread with his fingers.

He gives it a hard yank, feeling the seams come undone.

“May you get what you wish for,” she whispers as she takes a sip of tea. “May you find eternal happiness with the person you love.”

 

* * *

 

At some point in his student life, Akira remembers developing an obsession with playing Soul Vendetta on his P.A.D. While his fellow classmates were busy filling up page after page of essays and cramming for weekly tests, he would be mashing buttons, slaughtering enemies with elaborate, over-the-top weapons. He would spend hours constructing detailed plans to ensure he could squeeze in the maximum amount of gameplay possible during breaks, or even during classes when he felt rebellious.

At times he would wonder whether it was possible to wipe out all the enemies in the map before they could respawn. It was a stupid thought, but an entertaining one nonetheless, one he would lose countless hours of sleep to.

His character was a tall, lean and toned man with heavy steel armour, and he could customise his hair and eye colour. Every time he switched his weapon in battle his character would speak in a gruff and commanding tone. _Let us slay the enemy! Don’t let them escape! Show no mercy! For the glory of our Lord!_

At times he would wonder whether it was possible to wipe out all the Shadows in the world before they would even think about sending reinforcements. It was a stupid thought, but an entertaining one nonetheless, one he would lose a limb or arm to.

(In the game, the main character’s goal was to slaughter all the dragons in the world to bring peace to his kingdom once more and bring honour to his God. Akira wonders if he can do that too.)

 

* * *

 

  
  


 

 

Akira’s dreams are always painted in pretty pictures, colourful and vivid, bursting with colours, a stark contrast as opposed to real life which is always black and white.

Even when he rouses from sleep and blinks away the fatigue, it takes him a while to blink away the bright hues that still follow him, memories that were repressed in him for so long that he forgets they exist. And while this has become familiar--the heavy weight that chains him to the bed, the light-headedness that accompanies morning calls--he knows that he’s not dreaming.

There is something warm moving in front of him as he tries to sit up and fails. He’s laid flat on a bed that is too hard for his liking and his body is being covered by a thick, wooly blanket.

He turns his head to the side and blinks as he finds himself staring at a ball of fur--a cat--which stares back at him with big, bright blue eyes. Looking at his reflection on its cornea, his own eyes take in his disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes.

What he remembers is having a chat with Ms Sakamoto over Aldmoor berries and tea, encountering some Shadows on his way back--the rest is hazy.

“I’m kinda thirsty, got any water?” He asks, the question not being directed at the furball, but rather the young man seated on a wooden chair crossed legged, reading a book.

The man puts his book down and gives him an incredulous look. “Your first reaction after waking up in an unfamiliar and possibly dangerous place is to ask for a _drink?_ ”

“I’m tucked in bed with warm blankets and no restraints. I don’t feel threatened at all.” Akira gives him a lazy smirk.

“You _do_ know who I am, right? Or have the Shadows beaten you senseless to the point where you can’t recall any former memories?” The man uncrosses his legs and narrows his eyes at him, looking at him as if he were a foreign specimen.

“Yeah, you’re the traitor.” Akira drawls, bored and weary.

There is a snort.

“Good to know that at least half your brain is functioning.” Black Mask rolls his eyes.

“Should I ask where I am?” Because he’s definitely not in Mementos, the place where he should be right now. All the walls are lined with bookshelves crammed with books, machines that look like equipment from the Science Labs emit low noises as they operate, the ceiling is so high up that it can’t be seen from where he is.

“My place.”

“Where is your place at, exactly?”

“Somewhere on an island.” Akira doesn’t complain about the vague answer because he has no fight in him, at least not today. Now that he does actually have some idea, he relaxes even more.

“Can I sleep some more?”

“No.”

“You aren’t a Disciple.”

“You nearly got yourself killed, dumbass.” Black Mask says as if Akira hadn’t spoken. “What part of your reptilian brain thought that going up against a horde of Shadows by yourself was a good idea?” The black cat scoffs in agreement.

Akira looks up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. “I was pissed.”

“How is that a valid reason?”

Akira sighs apathetically. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” There’s a hint of softness in Black Mask’s voice.

“Why do you care?”

“Geez, I’m terribly sorry for showing concern.” Black Mask sneers. “Though... I sense a hint of taboo.”

Akira’s heartbeat begins to quicken.

The cat’s eyes glisten. “Huh? Taboo, eh? Scary…”

Black Mask swats the cat away with a flick of his wrist. “You’re the one to talk.” As he banters the cat, he turns to face Akira again.

“I’m about to tell you some confidential information. If you don’t want to hear it, tell me and you can go back to sleep.”

“Huh? What?” Akira props himself on his elbow to look at him.

“Do you truly like that human so much?”

The amount of people that can read his mind is alarming.

“Ooooh, he stroke a nerve.” The cat’s tail begins to wag excitedly, as if he were a dog.

“Shut up, Morgana.” Black Mask snaps. It comes out exasperated, but there’s a hint of fondness in there. He then looks at Akira.  “I’ve just realised we haven’t introduced ourselves properly. What’s your name?”

“Uhm… it’s Akira.”

“Goro, and this,” Goro points to the cat. “annoying furball is Morgana. Nice to meet you.”

It takes Akira a few seconds to process what he just said. Surely it’s not him. Surely he must've heard it wrong.

“Yes, it’s me.” Goro says as if he had to tell this many times before. “Do you want an autograph?”

The saviour of the 23th Shadow War, the soldier every Spirit aspired to be, the comrade who heroically sacrificed himself to protect his squad--a Lost.

The Spirit Prince, they all call him. They have his portrait displayed in the Assembly Hall, the Lecture Theatres, in every Circulator's office, anywhere important and most frequented. The Disciples preach about his greatness to their subordinates anytime they can.

Everyone looks up to him, aspires to be like him, some even go so far as to mimic his interests and tastes in an effort to become perfect, impeccable( after all, there is always room for improvement, always). It was as if he was their God (and it scares Akira sometimes).

“But I thought you died--” Akira says as he shakes his head.

“The Disciples will do anything to keep their shiny, clean reputation. Surely you don’t blindly believe in everything they say.”

“I don’t!”

“In any case, I guess my assumption about your problem was correct.” Goro pauses for a while to take in Akira’s surprised expression. “If memory serves me right, there’s a law that prohibits Spirits to become...ah, involved in humans.”

“Uh, yeah? That’s why--”

“There are many Spirits who’ve abandoned their mission because of this absurd law.”

“You know about that?”

“Of those I know, there’s been several.”

Akira remembers the face of his initial partner that he separated from thirty years ago. Perhaps he was also an acquaintance of Goro.

“The last time I’ve been in contact with a Lost was about...forty or so years ago. Though I’ve heard that the laws have become stricter.” Goro says, looking down. “But enough of that. Tell me more about this human you go gaga over. What do they think of you? To begin with, can they even see your true form?”

“Ah, um...he saved me. A year ago, I got attacked by Shadows and suffered injuries. I couldn’t return to Mementos, but he happened to pass by and offered to let em stay at his place, so I became indebted to him…”

Goro tilts his head. “So in other words, it was love at first sight?”

“Bullshit,” Akira mutters to himself. Love at first sight is only a thing that happens in fiction. “It was just, at that time--”

“Then why did you decide to go along with a human whom you just met?” Goro says, giving Akira a judgemental look. “No matter how serious an injury, spirits have ways to heal themselves.”

Akira shakes his head firmly. “You’ve got it wrong. I was just my first time talking with a human; I was just curious. And I thought it was unusual that he could see my true form straight away.”

“If that’s the case, if I happened to pass by at that time and offered my hand to you, would you have followed me without a second thought?”

“Hell no.” The image of his cryptid persona flashes in Akira’s mind. “Oh! No offense, but--”

“You’re an honest one.” He wags a finger at him. “But that tells me enough.”

Akira still thinks it’s complete, utter nonsense.

“It began as love at first sight, but after time, those feelings became certain. That’s love for you.”

Even until now, he refuses to admit it. Spirits don’t love--they aren’t allowed to--It’s unnatural. The action of devoting oneself to another is scandalous, immoral. No matter how close spirits are to one another, their highest priority is always God. Those that cannot do so are sent to Quarantine.

“Although you may not understand it, it’s not impossible. You’ve realised what it is, and simply accepting it is enough.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile--knowing and understanding. “Now that that’s out of the way, there’s two options you can choose.”

Akira can only find himself repeating after Goro’s words. “Two… options?”

“The first one, is to die.” Morgana, the cat says, startling Akira. He glares at the black cat.

“He’s not wrong.” Goro says as he crosses his legs and rests his chin on his hands. “If your little infatuation is discovered, you’ll be killed. Though in the past, they used to be more merciful. They used to hold trails for heretics, but it’s mostly just for show. Ninety nine point nine percent of trails all result in a memory wipe, by reducing their soul to the source of life, the Holy Grail. They will have any ‘unnecessary’ memories and emotions wiped, and be reborn as a clean slate.”

“Huh?” Akira raises an eyebrow. “But I thought they get sent to Quarantine.”

“Well, those in power tend to keep the darker parts behind closed doors. The more you know.”

 _“Always be on your best behaviour,”_ He’d always hear the Disciples say, especially so when he was a student. “ _You don’t want to get sent to Quarantine, do you?”_

Akira shudders.

“If you don’t want to meet that fate, I’d suggest you cut off contact with that human. It’s as simple as that.” Goro says, his voice dry, impassive.

“I jest.” Goro says when Akira doesn’t answer, giving him a wry smile. “If it were that simple, so many Spirits wouldn’t have chosen to become Lost.”

“Lost…”

“To become Lost, that is the second path. Most of them do so out of love. Although rare, there are those that have done it for other reasons…”

Lost Spirits. The most traitorous act against God. The mere mention of the Lost never fails to send chills down Akira’s spine.

“Although they’re called the Lost, there are several different categories. There are those who regress and turn into Shadows, and those who seal away their power and live in hiding. I wouldn’t recommend turning into a Shadow, though. Oh, and there’s humans.”

“Humans?”

Goro’s eyebrows furrow. “Let me finish. Anyway, there are those that wish to blend in as naturally as possible in the human world. This is why they come to me.”

Akira tilts his head, frowning. “What’s so special about you?”

“Living in the human world while avoiding detection is pretty hard to do.” Goro says, disregarding Akira’s question. “It isn’t something you can accomplish by yourself. To avoid detection completely, one’s holy power must completely sealed. But there’s a problem. Without holy power, you die.” He punctuates the end of his sentence by snapping his fingers.

“When you die, it’s all over. But there are two ways to live while sealing one’s power. The first is to convert one’s holy power with dark power--the power that Shadows use. By doing so, they regress and become one of them.”

“I’d rather not.” Akira comments.

“Well, your appearance will undergo a huge deal of change. Besides, Shadows are ugly.” Goro began to shiver, as if the very thought of becoming a Shadow disgusted him, repulsed him (Akira thinks it’s because he's vain, so fucking vain).

“Or,” Morgana leaps onto Goro’s lap and looks at Akira. “I could kill you!” There is no malice or sadism in his eyes, which makes Akira all the more confused and frankly, a little terrified.

“Shut your mouth.” Goro picks him up, much to Morgana’s annoyance. He trashes and growls in Goro’s grip, making the occasional attempt to scratch him. He hurls the cat out of the door and locks it, hearing the cat’s muffled screech outside that went along the lines of “that’s what I was made to do anyway!”

“Sorry about that. By the way, the other, _proper_ way is to use this.”

Goro rummages through his many cupboards, pulling out a rusted and tattered golden cage. Inside the cage lies a jeweled butterfly with only one wing, its surface encrusted with blue sapphires.

“This is the Butterfly. In exchange for granting one wish, something of equal value must be sacrificed.”

Akira eyes look up and down slowly as he takes in the strange, peculiar device that could apparently grant him any wish he desires. “How does it work?”

“Let me explain. Suppose you have a wish that you want granted, no matter the cost. You wish it on the Butterfly. After the wish has been granted, you will experience the same amount of happiness, and also an equal amount of sadness to even it out.” Goro brushes away the dust that has covered the gold bars of the cage with a cloth. “The person that used this previously was a mother with her terminally ill son. She knew the heavy risks involved, but, still, her motherly love for him was stronger. With the power of the Butterfly, her son’s illness vanished overnight. However, from that day on, he no longer loved his mother. Losing her son, and being loved by him, were in equal value to her. One day, he packed his bags and left, leaving her all alone. Unable to cope with the grief, she spent the rest of her days wasting away, and ultimately took her own life.”

Akira stares at the device--the device that can grant miracles and at the same time misfortunes--and somehow, he feels the butterfly in the cage staring back.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she gave me this.” It seems that the words have no context, not that Akira would bother looking for one, though he feels a hint of contrition in his tone. “But that’s not important. What path do you wish to take?”

If someone had told his younger self that in the future, he’d have to choose between being a Shadow or human, he’d laugh at them, and rightfully so.

“Even if your memories of Mementos are erased, it only applies to the things concerning the one you love. You won’t lose everything.”

Losing the memories he’s made with Ryuji is out of the question. He’d rather die a hundred times over.

“I… I don’t want… but, I can’t…  I can never betray my friends.”

“You can’t have everything you want in life.” Goro’s voice is sharp, but not harsh.

“But--”

“What do you consider the most important to you?”

Akira remembers, in the back recesses of his mind, being asked this very same question before. Or was it he the one that asked?

His mind is thrown into a mess of anxiety, fear and zealousness, and finds himself unable to form any words.

“Keep calm. Close your eyes and breathe slowly. Recall all the happy times and sad times. What do you see?”

Happy memories begin to appear behind the lids of his eyes like a movie: when he and Futaba as students would exchange notes in class and pull off all-nighters together. He and his friends would always gather at their usual table in the cafeteria and laugh at each other’s jokes while eating cookies and sipping tea. They always talked about many things, and he would always rack his brain to think of the juiciest gossip to share.

Even when he made mistakes during work, Sae would kindly give him her support while lecturing him. They would complain about their workload together, just as he would do with his friends. Despite their world being smudged with beige and brown, everyone was so kind and warm.

And yet--

There’s wetness on his cheeks.

He’s sick of following the rules, he’s sick of being in Mementos, he’s sick of being himself. Every toxic feeling he’s ever had seemed to explode inside him, like a different million voices screaming to be heard at once. _Stop crying,_ the Disciples would yell when they as students ever dared to shed a tear. _A soldier does not cry. God does not want a servant who cries._ He is torn apart with not crying.

“There’s no right or wrong answer; I can’t tell you, I don’t know. Choose the one that you’ll regret the least.”

In a roundabout way, his words gave him relief.

Those warm and memorable days, his mission as a spirit, as God’s servant. All of the precious, irreplaceable memories that he could manage to salvage wavers in the face of that smile from that day.

 

* * *

 

  


 

> _In the event where a soldier who choses to abandon their mission and betray God are classified as the Lost. The punishment for committing such a heinous crime is death, swift and certain._
> 
>  
> 
> -Audio Book of the Weiss Fairytale, <<Yaldabaoth>>

 

 

 

 

> 23th Shadow War Report 941 
> 
> _(Note that this document contains level-S classified information and should not be disclosed to anyone other than selected parties)_
> 
>  
> 
> _We have received reports on the desertion of the Alpha squad’s Fighter class Goro. He was reported missing in action an hour after the mission to reclaim Efdell. Immediate action must be undertaken to locate his whereabouts and his execution._
> 
>  
> 
> _The Disciple Mentor Committee is growing uneasy in regards to Spirit morale (a celebrity defecting would surely cause unease and copycat crime). In the events of an information leak, ascertaining the source should be a top priority._
> 
>  
> 
> _Please refer to chapter 4 of “Countermeasures” for information on how to handle leaked information, as well as the individual(s) who disclosed it._
> 
>  
> 
> Codename: Observer class, Caroline

 

 

  


 

> 23th Shadow War Report 958
> 
>  
> 
> _It has been decided that defectors will be sentenced to death without a trail. This law will take effect after 19th February, 1509 AC._
> 
>  
> 
> _The Circulator Division has just announced a new Executioner class Spirit to handle defectors, and has given it the official name “Morgana”._
> 
>  
> 
> Codename: Observer class, Justine
> 
>  

  
  



	3. part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day his perfect world ended was on a rather quiet Saturday.

It’s supposed to be just another Saturday.

The sky this morning is clear as a bell. Warm and pleasant, with a slight refreshing breeze blowing in from the north, not too warm or too cold. It’s the kind of day where people would be outside enjoying the sun.

Ryuji glances up at the cloudless sea of blue, as if wanting to yell at whatever deity that rested up there, but his throat is already terribly, achingly sore from screaming. Even if he did, what’s lost will forever remain so, no matter how much he cursed and hollered.

He can hear the low murmurs of the villagers and the occasional sob if he listened closely enough. The atmosphere is dreary and his shoulders are slumped under the weight of Death’s hand. He had asked to take a break from the funeral, and who could blame him, when all he could do was cry and cry and cry.

He tries to visualise his Ma’s face and grips on the memories that still linger in his mind. There were so many memories, that he grips on so tightly in fear of them vanishing forever as there wouldn’t be new ones. He desperately tries to forget all about _that_ night, the night when God decided to pull the rug from beneath his feet, the night when he could feel everything and nothing (and she was so, so _cold_ ).

The worst part of it all, was that he never got to say goodbye.

He was out that night, carried away with his work. Whether she passed quietly or in pain, he doesn’t and never will know.

Surely, she must hate him. After all, he never got to fulfill her wish, the promise of a happy, secure future with a dozen grandchildren. For all the years she had protected and raised him, granting all of his undeserved wishes, he couldn’t even fulfill one for her in return.

Not everyone in the village liked him, but for some reason they all collectively agreed that he was a filial son and how lucky his Ma was to have him.

But in reality, he had wanted a reason to run away from the engagement, from the agreement that both families had made when he was still young and stupid and had no say in his future.

In reality, he is a coward. Brash, weak, selfish, _useless._

There is a sudden gust of wind, and something white flutters past, landing at his feet. Picking it up, he realises that it is a white lace handkerchief with butterflies sewn on it with azure blue thread. It felt expensive in his hand.

He looks around for the owner of said handkerchief. Does it belong to Mika (then again he’s not surprised even if it were)?

Just as he stuffs it in his pocket, he notices someone looking around frantically for something. She’s pale and dressed in full on black and for a moment, he thinks it’s Death coming for him in the form of a young girl.

She notices him and looks at his direction. When their eyes meet, he feels like something had passed through his body at a tremendous speed. He stands there, frozen in place like a marble statue.

She blinks once, twice, and approaches him. “Excuse me, did you happen to see--”

He’s already taken out the handkerchief from his pocket and shoving it at her. He doesn’t know why he’s so flustered or why he’s so awkward around a (pretty) stranger; it’s not the first time he has laid eyes on a beautiful girl.

She laughs, airy and dazed. “Thank you... I was so worried.”

“uhm--ah… well, you see… uhh…”

He finally manages to speak, but instead of forming proper words, all that comes out of his lips are mumbles and incomprehensible sentences.

“‘s pretty!”

She looks up, eyes widening in surprise.

“I mean… that handkerchief! Not you exactly-- uh! Nonono, I didn’t mean that--”

“It’s okay, thanks for bringing it back to me anyway.” She looks down to brush away the dirt on her handkerchief with her dainty fingers

Every single one of her movements are etched into his memory in slow motion. It’s all too much; his violently swaying heart couldn’t take it much longer. When their gazes meet again, she smiles, creasing the corner of her eyes.

There’s something nostalgic about her despite the fact that they’ve never met before. She has an air of girlish youngness, but perhaps of her beautiful appearance, also gave off an impression of being calm and mature. Were they about the same age?

It comes to his realisation that he’s been staring for quite a long time. His Ma had always told him to not stare, especially at girls.

“Your clothes…”

“Hm?”

Is she attending the funeral? Perhaps she’s an acquaintance of his Ma or a distant relative he’s never heard of before?

“This?” She points at her black dress. “Ah, I’m not attending the funeral. I’m just a travelling merchant passing by. I apologize if I’m intruding.”

“No, you aren’t.”

What is he to do? The conversation cannot go on, not with how embarrassed he’d feel whenever their eyes meet, not with how unworthy he feels to have the attention of someone like her.

“She was a very kind soul. I recall the time she helped me out during my time of need.”

He looks up, leaning forward, his gaze expectant (he wants to listen and preserve every good story about her, to keep it in his memory and play it over again and again in his head).

“While I was on my way to Elfdell to sell my wares, I was robbed by a group of bandits. Not wanting to go down without a fight, I retaliated and ended up gravely injured. While I was left for dead, she fortunately passed by and was kind enough to help me.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling fondly at the memory. “She fed me some foul smelling soup. Actually, she forced fed me. It was disgusting.” She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, reliving the taste of his Ma’s medicine. “But thanks to her I was able to recover. I owe her.”

There’s something reminiscent about her story. It does indeed feel like he’s met her somewhere before (or maybe it’s just his mind trying desperately to fit her into his memories, to want the knowledge of someone like her being involved in his pathetic excuse of a life).

“What’s wrong?”

Not understanding the reason for her concern, he tilts his head.

“I’m sorry! Did I say something wrong?”

It’s only when she mentioned it did he feel the wetness on his cheeks. Is it because of the still fresh pain of losing his Ma, or is it because she’s comforting him so gently? No matter how he tries to hold it in, the tears continue to flow freely.

He’s then embraced, gently and consolingly, by warm, delicate arms.

And he cries, in front of a stranger. Like a small child, he cries while hugging her back. He’s holding her so tightly, as if afraid that if he lets go she’ll leave him (just like his Ma, and the thought frightens him).

How much time has passed? Worn out from crying, he rubs his eyes that must be swollen by now.  She must be weirded out, meeting someone whom she just met hugging her like a teddy bear. Looking down, he braces himself to see a disgusted, confused expression on her face. Instead, she continues giving him the same gentle smile.

“Is there something on my face?” She instinctively reaches out to touch her cheek, like all girls do.

He quickly shook his head. “No! I just wondered… aren’t you weirded out by this? Isn’t it strange?”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s okay to let it all out. It’s just, you look much more relaxed now, I mean.”

Now that she mentioned it, the heaviness that had been weighing down on his heart had lightened, if only slightly, but it helped nonetheless.

Without asking him anything, without even knowing the reason, she simply holds him close. Just by seeing her smile cheers him up.

“What’s strange, though, is that we haven’t introduced ourselves yet.” She tucks the loose strands of hair behind her ear again. He notes that she does it a lot.

“Ah! I’m uhh… Sakamoto Ryuji.”

“I’m Amamiya Ren. It’s nice to meet you, Sakamoto.”

Ryuji’s heart starts pounding again when she calls his name. He wishes he could use a pillow to muffle the sound of his heartbeat.

“Oh, so you’re…” Ren pauses, looking down at her feet. “I see. I’m terribly sorry.”

“‘s okay...”

“I’m intruding, aren’t I? A travelling merchant has no need to sell her wares at a funeral.” She bows, low and respectful. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be going now. I send your mother my prayers.”

She turns around, and at the moment, his hands moved on its own, reaching out to hold at the long sleeve of her dress. He’s surprised by the involuntary movement, but when he tries to let go, his hand won’t budge. Not wanting to see the expression she has on her face, he looks away.

“Sakamoto...? Uh, Sakamoto…”

Forever and ever. He wants to stay like this till the end of time. He wants her to keep on calling his name like this, to hold him gently again (and the world can crash and burn for all he cared, as long as she’s there, nothing else matters).

“Please… please stay.” He begs, childishly and pathetically. Would she laugh at how desperate he’s acting? With her looks, he’s sure that many other men had probably told her the same thing. The hand holding onto her sleeve is becoming damp. Time has never felt this long before. The silence is painful.

Just when he thinks he can stand the silence no longer, she grabs his hand firmly (a part of him thinks she probably feels the same way, but it’s probably his mind playing tricks on him again, a desperate attempt to pretend that he’s anything but a failure).

 

* * *

 

  


 

 

“Crap!”

The sound of a ceramic plate shattering reverberates throughout the house. Ryuji cringes; it’s been a while since he’s heard that sound.

He looks over his shoulder to see the plate scattered into a hundred tiny shards on the floor, with Ren cupping her hands to her chest, looking anywhere but his direction. “I didn’t know what happened, okay! Just… let me clean up.”

With an embarrassed smile, she ducks her head and turns around to grab a broom, only to be stopped by a hand that grabs her arm. “Lemme do it. Just bring me two or three more apples.”

She gasps as if offended by the fact that he offered to do the cleaning. “What? But I want to help too!”

“It’s alright. The thought of ya helping out makes me happy.”

Ren’s frown turns upside down. With a giggle she heads over to pantry to collect the apples they had bought from the market earlier.

Although she’s able to do most other things skillfully, for some reason, she’s particularly clumsy when it comes to housework. Just like how she had dropped plates, when she had helped with peeling apples for baking, she’d peel the apple skin thickly to the point where there was not much fruit left when she was done. Though, after a certain period of training, she has gotten better at it and dropped plates less frequently.

While she claims to not have done housework before, there were many things about her daily routine that seemed unusual (like how she wouldn’t go to sleep despite it being pitch black outside, forgetting to eat or eating too much). He feels that it simply isn’t due to cultural differences. She had mentioned before how she had always lived alone for the majority of her life  without parents or siblings; perhaps she was just out of the ordinary.

“Is this enough?” Ren returns with an armful of apples.

“That many? I said a few would be enough.”

“If we have a lot, then we can make a really big pie out of it!”

“You really do love eating, don’tcha?”

“It’s because the food you make are so good…” She says, hugging him from behind.

The warmth from her body feels nice, but he wouldn’t be able to continue baking like this.

“Ren…”

“You smell nice…”

“I can’t work like this.”

“I know.”

“If you know, then--”

She giggles, sly and coy. “But I’m happy like this.”

Happy. Her charming, girly voice melts his heart like ice on a hot summer day. Ever since he’s moved out of the village with her, every moment of his life has been nothing but happiness and warm emotions.

“Yea, me too.”

Ren lifts her face from his back and turns to face him. Ryuji is met with bright, kind eyes, noticing a hint of curiosity in them. He lifts his left hand to stroke her cheek. The taste of apples lingers in their kiss.

 

* * *

 

Even after spending two years in the city, Ryuji’s still not quite used to it.

It’s much more cramped and noisy compared to the village. Despite their house being much bigger than his old one, he can’t help but feel claustrophobic at times. Trapped, even. It’s all so different from the environment that he has been born and raised in, and his mind is screaming _‘this is wrong’_ over and over like a mantra.

But he has no right to complain. Both of them had agreed on the idea of moving here, though it was more of Ren’s idea for him to start with a blank slate in a new place full of unfamiliar people. She knows what was best for him, she has proven this countless amount of times during the period that they have been together, even before that.

At first, he wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or creeped out by the fact that she knew so much about him, despite them having never met prior before the funeral. But over time, he grew to appreciate that fact, for God had graced him with the perfect girl that he had been searching for, longing for the majority of his life.

There were times that he would doubt her, wondering if it was all a trap (perhaps she might be a succubus from the stories mothers would tell their sons, reminding them to be wary of beautiful women). It was all too good to be true, all too good for a lowlife like him.

Even if it were all a lie, a dream, a trap, he’s past the point of caring. He wants to never learn the truth to the lie, to never wake up from the dream, to never leave the cage that he’s locked up in.

 

* * *

 

After stuffing her face with apple pie, Ren reads the newspaper while drinking coffee. While she was still a Spirit, she had found coffee to be too bitter for her liking. But after reincarnating into a human female, Ren, it seems that her taste has changed considerably.

Taste wasn’t the only thing that changed. She started growing interest over the major trends in human society, and although she had never cared much for it other than having to memorise them for her tests, she now checks current events every morning without fail.

Today, the headlines read: _Mysterious massacre at Sol Es Church! Police forces struggles to find even a single lead!_

Church, massacre, not a single clue--it all painfully reminds her of _that_ incident (there is no ‘proof’ in the dispute between Spirits and Shadows that humans could ever hope to understand, even with involvement with the world’s most brightest police forces). Although the reality is that the ones suffering the damage were not Spirits nor Shadows, but humans. As she thinks about the indescribable ironic thoughts, she drowns her coffee in one gulp.

There is a rustle that she makes out of the corner of her eye. It’s usually either a pest, or--

“Massacre?” Morgana appears out of nowhere, perching himself on her right shoulder like a parrot on the shoulder of a pirate captain. There’s a strange glint of hunger in his eyes which he tries to hide. She supposed it can’t be helped since it’s in his nature as a weapon created to kill.

“Do you happen to know anything about it?” She asks, turning her head to face him.

“Hmm, not much, but it’s definitely correlated to a Shadow’s influence, no doubt.” His tail lazily waves back and forth. “Why do you care? I thought you’re done with those kind of stuff.”

“No, I’m just curious. Besides, it’s sort of fun to watch from the sidelines.”

Morgana perks up. “I didn’t take you to be _that_ kind of person.”

Ren flips a page of her newspaper. “Perhaps? Though I’m not into committing manslaughter, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Hearing this, the cat visibly deflates. “Way to kill the mood.”

The next article is about a confession of a murderer in Elfdell. Apparently he’s murdered his wife and kids while they were asleep.

“Why do people do this sort of thing, especially to people they are supposed to protect?” She tilts her head, frowning.

“Humans are… how do I put this, special. Unlike animals, they kill uncountable numbers of their own kind, yet loved in equal measure. It’s fascinating, don’t you think? What drives this sort of behaviour? Even I don’t know.”

Partly the reason why humans were seen as subspecies might have been due to their brutality. They’re barbarians, he remembers Sae scoffing when he asked her about humans. Perhaps there’s a certain psychology behind it, one that Spirits willfully ignore because of their egos.

Before Ren can respond, she hears a scoff. “Get that cat out of our house.”

Morgana scoffs back an flicks his tail as an expression of challenge. “Mind your own business, I’m having a really interesting conversation here!”

Ryuji glares at him. “Shut up. Ren, kick him out, pleaseeee...”

She stifles a chuckle. “Someone’s desperate.” He never says the word please unless he’s at his wits end.

“Oh come on! You know how much I hate that thing!” He stomps his foot like an angry child being denied their candy, which only serves to make her laugh even more.

“Why? But I like him.”

“But I don’t.”

“You said you’d do anything for me.”

“Yeah, anything but _this_ \--” he jabs a finger at Morgana’s head, making him hiss and swipe his claws in an attempt to scratch him. “--stupid fuzzball. It makes too much noise and creates a mess every time he steps into our house.”

“Excuse you!” Morgana stands on all fours and hisses, barring his canines at Ryuji. “If anything, it’s _you_ who’s messy to begin with! If it weren’t for your girlfriend cleaning up after your mess, this place would be a literal dump!”

Ryuji groans. “He’s so goddamn annoying. Why do you even keep him around?”

“I told you.” She puts down her newspaper and looks at him. “I like him, so he’s staying.”

“You always talk to it like it can even understand what you’re saying.”

She gives him a small smirk. “What if I told you I can?”

“Bullshit.” He folds his arms to his chest. ‘You only keep him around to piss me off.”

She mouths an exaggerated gasp. “I would never!”

“Even if she doesn’t, I enjoy coming over watching you throw a hissy fit whenever you see me.” Morgana snides before looking at Ren. “Seriously, what do you see in him?”

Ren gives the cat a cheeky smile before he’s being grabbed by the collar. Morgana struggles, clawing and hissing at air before Ryuji walks out of the front door with an angry cat in hand. It takes him a good solid hour for him to return, with him declaring how proud he is for dumping the cat to some merchant who was willing to buy him.

The very next day, Ren has a rather rude awakening.

Ryuji’s screaming and hollering at a very smug looking Morgana resting on top of their cupboard.

“Seriously, what do you ever see in him?”

 

* * *

 

“Have a safe trip~”

Ryuji rolls his eyes while Ren scratches the back of Morgana’s ears. After being seen off by the cat, they leave through the front door, their skins becoming flushed under the scorching sunlight. Carrying a large trunk, they get into a small carriage without a coachman. Starting today, it will be just the two of them for a week. They’re going to a forest at a neighboring country. Ren has been looking forward to the trip the entire time, and just by seeing her excited face made Ryuji’s heart flutter.  

They pass through the city gates, descending down a rocky trail, taking several breaks before arriving at a small cottage nestled deep in the woodland, with wild flowers growing nearby as if decorating the house.

If there’s one redeeming quality about Ren that he can list on the top of his head, it’s her ability to form connections regardless of the person’s age or gender. Ever since she had begun living in the city, she’s able to occasionally travel to neighbouring countries for leisure trips, thanks to the relationship she’s built up. In fact, the nice cottage was lent to by a good friend of hers that she’d known for a very, very long time.

“I still think it’s a bad idea to let that cat watch over the house.” Ryuji says, taking out their luggage.

“You’d be surprised.” Ren replies, unlocking the padlock and opening the front door.

The interior of the house is well kept; servants must come to take care of it frequently. It is neither too lavish nor rustic; it’s a house of good taste.

“Renren! There’s loads of boar in these woods, right?”

“Boar? Well, he did say that he comes here to hunt, so there should be some.”  

“Sweet! I’ve been dying to give this bad boy a go!”

“After you put away the luggage, we can go.”

“Then let’s have a competition to see who can get a better catch! Loser has to do all the chores.”

 

* * *

 

Turns out, even with his new rifle, Ryuji is still an amateur compared to Ren. At her feet was the fattest, fleshy boar he has ever laid his eyes upon. He’s still in denial over the fact that she managed to drag it all the way back to the cottage by herself.

When he first learned that she knew how to hunt (and being damn good at it, in fact), he refused to believe it. It wasn’t normal for a girl to do such masculine tasks; they belonged at home, cooking the meals and taking care of their kids. But over time, he began accepting it, even admiring her talent when it came to guns. Sometimes, he’s a disgrace to his own gender.

“‘s not fair…” Ryuji mumbles, glaring so hard at his own catch that it’s terrifying. It seems that he wants a rematch, but the sun is setting and the results of the competition are clear.

His eyes are glistening with tears of frustration. He must look like a huge fool for taking this competition so seriously. Ren seems to agree, as she covers her mouth and starts laughing.

“H-hey! What’s so funny?!”

“Hehe… you’re glaring at the poor little bunny you caught.. what did it ever do to you… hahaha…”

“Stop laughing!”

He finds himself losing his composure, feeling that he would burst into tears at any moment. She teases too much.

“I’m sorry~”

She pulls him into an embrace, pressing her hand against the back of his neck, forcing their gazes to meet. He glares at her from point-blank range, but it doesn’t seem to be very effective.

“You look cute when you’re riled up like that.”

He decides to not give her the satisfaction and looks away.

“Come on, cheer up!”

When he doesn’t answer, she pouts. “I can help out with the chores. It’s no big deal.”

Still feeling petty, he twists his upper body away from her.

She frowns, thinking for a while before she looks up, a hint of mischief glinting in her eye. “Hey, how about this?” She stands on her toes and whispers something in his ear, low and sultry.

Her words immediately turns his face red, probably as red as the sunset. His heart feels like it’s about to tear a hole from his chest and leap out of it.

“I’m hungry, let’s hurry up and prepare dinner.” Ren says, airy and dazed, as if she had not whispered something so scandalous in his ear a few mere moments ago.

 

* * *

 

In order to live with the human she loves so dearly, she had made a contract with him on that day.

By sacrificing her holy power and in exchange for using a portion of dark power, she was temporarily able to be reborn as a human. To the outside world, she was just an ordinary human with no special powers. They remain blissfully unaware of the teetering balance of two powers inside her, for even the slightest shift in balance could destroy her body.

She's uncertain whether or not her soul will return to the Holy Grail (or whether the Circulators in Mementos would want a tainted soul such as hers), but still, she had consented and obtained the body.

However, the price of his wish had been the thing most important to her--the memories he had of her, when she called herself a he, when she was still a Spirit.

When she first met him as Ren, and he hadn't reacted at all to a face that resembled Akira, put a pit in her stomach. But even so, he had hugged her, held her close and cried on her shoulder.

Even if they didn't manage to get along and went along with the engagement with Ichiko, she had fully intended to keep in contact with him as a fellow neighbor and watch over him from the shadows. She never expected much, which was probably why she's so scared of the newfound happiness she has now (she's worried they'd slip through her fingers like water, and the thought scares her).

It's the dead of the night. Unlike the city, nights in the forest are tranquil. She can hear the sounds of crickets and the rustling of leaves under the cool breeze.

Unlike Mementos, there's no low hum of air conditioners, no robotic intercoms or the perfect synchronised breathing of her comrades in their identical white rooms.

Looking out of the window beside the bed, Ren notices twinkling lights floating around. Perhaps these were fireflies that were native to this country. It's as if the sky had collapsed to the Earth along with its stars.

She's never realised how many different cultures and lands there are in the human world. Mementos is the origin of everything, she remembers telling Ryuji once. As a human, being able to experience these different experiences makes her very happy.

Ryuji is still laying in bed, mumbling about something in his sleep (she doesn't blame him--they've been up for hours and after all that he's sure to be tired).

Poking her head out of the window, she can see a peak of the night sky that isn't covered by trees. For a split second, a star streaks across the sky with a sparkle.

Isn't there a human custom about making wishes upon shooting stars? If she wakes him up now and pleads with him to make a wish with her, what would he wish for?

She gazes up at the patch of sky, staring at nowhere in particular. She has many wishes, but the one she yearns the most is for the peaceful days to continue forever and ever like this.

 

* * *

 

“Are we ready to begin preparations soon?” A cheery, excited voice asks from the doorway. Ren looks up from the book she’s reading to see Shiho looking at her expectantly.

“Don’t overdo it.”

“Oh?” Shiho tilts her head. “Is it not affordable, even for you?”

“Well, it’s just a birthday party, there’s no need to make it so lavish.”

“But birthdays are celebrated only once a year, after all!”

Despite that, today is not the day she had been born as a Spirit. While every Spirit's date of birth and death are recorded in the Library Index, they don't see the importance of celebrating the day they are born--it's too much of a hassle.

Instead, today is the day she had been born as Ren (and in other words, it is also the last day of Akira's life). She doesn't know whether to feel happy or sentimental.

“Come on, today will be the first party we're having together! Let's make it memorable.”

What Shiho holds out to her is a large, colourful bouquet with roses, daisies and weeping lilies meticulously arranged by colour to create a heart. Scattered on the table are other similarly dazzling bouquets. It’s as if they were made for a princess, and just looking at it makes her dizzy.

“You didn’t have to do all this. I don’t think I deserve such pretty gifts.” She doesn't, because she's not Akira and she isn't her friend. Shiho has no reason to be this nice to her.

“Nonsense. I came all the way here to celebrate, and a friend of Ryuji is a friend of mine.” She notices one of the flowers is slightly crooked, and carefully rearranges them with her dainty fingers, looking them over with a keen eye that only a professional florist would have.

“Oh, please don't take this the wrong way. I really think that the flowers you cultivate are gorgeous.”

Ren wonders if Shiho’s cheeks are hurt from smiling so widely. “You're too nice. But my flowers can't compare to your beauty.”

Taken aback, Ren’s cheeks turn red. “What're you saying, all of a sudden…!”

“Oh, sorry for my bluntness, but I just think you're really, really pretty. I guess what they say about women being more beautiful when they're in love is true~”

“Hey!”

“What could you be so worked up over? You and Ryuji look so cute together.”

Despite blushing over the comment like a little girl, she's genuinely happy to see that her relationship with him was being recognised.

“But flowers are beautiful things, aren't they? Each one symbolises different things; they even have their own language.” There's a hint of nostalgia in her ebony black eyes. “Back when Ryuji was six, he wanted to give a flower to his mother as a gift for her birthday. Did you know what he gave her?” Shiho leans forward, looking at her as if expecting her to know the answer.

“A Petunia!” She exclaims. “Of all purple flowers to choose from! But his mother still kept it in a vase and cared for it. Up to this day, I'm still unsure if she knows the meaning behind them or she just doesn't want to hurt Ryuji's feelings.”

Ren still doesn't fully understand why humans choose to label flowers as good or bad. To her, flowers are flowers. It's unfortunate that such a beautiful flower has such a negative stigma (she'd pin it on her hair as an accessory if it weren't for it's symbolism).

“Before his mother died, there was a boy who hung around with him a lot. But when she died, he disappeared without a trace. He was like a prince out of a storybook; a dashing boy indeed…”

“Who are you calling a prince?” Ren yells.

Shiho pauses and tilts her head. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, I mean--"

“It's alright. You're plenty cute yourself. Though I can't help but notice there's something about you which resembles him in a way.”

An unpleasant sensation tingles down her spine as she is observed at from such a close distance. Has she already noticed?

“Don't you want to know more about him? He's so friendly and dashing.” Shiho's voice is airy and light, faint traces of red dusting her cheeks.

Ren shakes her head. “Not interested.”

“Oooh, is that jealousy I sense?”

It's strange, harbouring jealousy towards her former self. Though it isn't something she can say out loud, so she keeps her lips sealed.

“Don't worry, if the both of you meet, I'm sure you'll get along with him just fine.”

But they can't, not when he had constantly looked at himself in the mirror in his white, sterile room in Mementos, cursing the reflection that stared back (his hair was messy, his eye bags visible in the dark room, he hates himself, he hates himself, he hates himself).

“Don’t look so glum, it's almost time for the party!” With that, Shiho nudges her out of her room, but before they could make it down the stairs, there's a sudden burst of crackers and a swear word being yelled.

“You pulled the string way too soon!”

“No shit! I was nervous, okay?!”

Peering down, the living hall is covered with pieces of colourful streamers and some food on the table has already been eaten, as if they couldn't wait any longer for the host to arrive.

“Even though I haven't come out yet, honestly…” Ren says, clicking her tongue at the two men present.

“It was the cat who ate it!” Ryuji points an accusing finger at Morgana.

“Excuse me? I only eat the finest tuna! Your food looks like _crap_.” Morgana hisses.

“Bullshit! I let you in my house for a day and you eat all the food I prepared!”

“It wasn't me!”

Mishima, who has been quiet the entire time, shuffles over to Shiho and whispers something to her ear.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

There were no winters in Altus. Unlike the cool climate of Rostrea, summer is eternal here.

The weather here is too hot for her liking, but she isn’t here for a vacation, oh no.

Sae stares at the pretty bartender who looks back undauntedly. They’re in a rather crowded tavern filled with the young and old alike that gathered like birds of a feather flock during the weekends.  Usually she doesn’t mind the hustle and bustle, but with the current state she is in, the noise is a bit harsh on her ears.

The bartender tells the shopkeeper that they had something confidential to discuss, and he directs them to a private room on the second floor. She prepares herself the same drink as her, and drinks it in one gulp in an accustomed manner. She mutters something about the drink being ‘delicious’, and Sae wonders how one could enjoy a drink so bitter and foul.

“If you don’t like it, why did you order one in the first place?” The bartender asks, putting her empty cup to the side.

“To blend in. Humans come here to drink, right? It’s only natural that I ordered one to avoid drawing attention to myself.” Sae swirls the glass in her hands, watching the bubbles in the foam pop.

“I’ve heard the quality of berries this year is particularly great. That’s why the alcohol is delicious too.”

“You work here?”

“Yup. It’s not much, I just prepare the drinks and clean up the place. What about you?”

“Well, the Shadows are still wrecking havoc at a rapid pace. I was sent here to investigate the damage. We’re shorthanded in Mementos, you know. This region is under Margaret’s control, but since the damage here is even greater than in Rostrea, they sent me here to assist.”

“I see. Sounds hectic as usual.”

Their meandering conversation continues. While a span of a year is nothing at all to Spirits, it still felt like a millennia since they’d had a one-on-one conversation like this.

“I’m not going back.” Ren says, looking down at the floor, looking at anywhere but her former Disciple. “Though with my appearance, I guess you already know.”

Sae blinks at her, disappointment gone and replaced with bland curiosity.

“Even though you came all this way, I can’t--”

Before she can finish her apology, Sae pulls Ren towards her, pressing her face against her chest, not wanting to hear those words yet. There’s still time to fix this. The sand in the hourglass hasn’t completely run out yet.

“Do you think I came all this way just to hear you say that?” Her voice is low and feral. “Unlike Margaret, I don’t have time in my schedule to waste to look for a cocky subordinate. You should know that.”

There’s dampness on her chest. She’s crying without making a sound.

“They’re going to kill me if I go back.”

“They won’t. I’ll find a way to save you. There has to be a way.”

“It’s no use. Just--”

“ _No._ I don’t even care if you stay in this form. So…”

She swallows the words she means to say next (an emotion buried deep in her heart, something that she pretends not to know, just as she is doing now). Even though his appearance has changed, his soul remains the same.

She’s tired, so very tired. She’s done everything the higher ups ordered her to do, and here she is, in a private room of a tavern hugging her former subordinate in a desperate plea to get her to listen to reason--a reason that doesn’t make sense.  

The thought is with her all day. She wants to demolish the entire tavern and scream at the top of her lungs, but she doesn’t. She tries to act normal. _There’s still time._

They remain in an embrace for a long time. They embrace until the gesture becomes meaningless.

 

* * *

 

 

Ren wakes up to the gentle rays of morning sun.

Still drowsy, she turns on the lamp on the bedside table. In the still-dim room illuminated by a warm orange hue, he is nowhere to be seen. It's unusual for him to wake up this early.

Head still ringing from a hangover, she stumbles to the mirror, almost instinctively, and takes a good look at her terrible complexion.

“Good morning, Akira.”

It's a name that she hasn't been called in a long time, a name she thought she'd forgotten, thrown into the depths of her mind to rot and decay. The reflection staring back is a handsome, familiar stranger in an all black uniform.

Ryuji has forgotten he ever existed, Shiho and Mishima almost never talk about him. Even Sae, who she had met for the first time in a while, has not called her by his name.

On the morning of her birthday, she had received a letter, the only thing written on it had been: _during the evening, one week from now, please meet me at Leblanc._ There had been no name or address, but with the letter being printed out on printer paper, she knew it must have been someone in Mementos who had sent the letter.

While reading the letter, she had been conflicted between the pit in his stomach at the fact that she was finally caught, and the happiness at the fact that Sae hadn't forgotten about her. She hadn't been hoping to be found so soon, but deep down she knew things would turn out like this.

Akira still quietly lives inside her. The rebellious, cocky boy that threw away everything for the sake of his own selfish desires, continues to stare at her through the mirror, kicking the glass surface with the heel of his boot.

“I'm sorry.”

It felt strange somehow, apologising to herself, but Akira is having none of it and continues kicking the mirror. He mouths, let me out, let me out, let me out like a mantra, now slamming his palms against the surface. Beneath his mask, she can sense the desperation in his eyes.

After some time his silent cries become audible. She apologises again and again, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

She doesn't regret any of this. She's glad that she became Ren, she's glad to be loved by Ryuji. She's happy, happy happy.

“Dude, what the hell?!”

Akira vanishes and is replaced by Ren. The lower half of the mirror is broken, with cracks running through and a hundred glass shards scattered on the wooden floor. It takes a moment to register that the red liquid tainting the mirror is not a remnant of her hallucination.

Her right foot does not feel pain, surprisingly. Instead it's cold and ticklish and she's almost tempted to give another kick to the mirror. She knows he's hiding in there, she just needs an extra nudge to push him out.

And when he does, she'll grab the largest, sharpest shard and plunge it into his neck (it's not as if Akira is a stranger to cuts made with broken mirror fragments; a deeper cut to the neck would be no problem at all).

 

* * *

 

“I sense war.” Goro says calmly, taking a sip from his drink.

“What did you put in his drink, kid?” The shopkeeper gruffs, looking at Ren with an eyebrow raised.

“Nothing, Mr Sakura.” Ren replies innocently.

“It might just be a hunch, but with the alarming number of psychotic breakdown and mental shutdown cases, I can't say for certain.” Goro continues, as if speaking from an encyclopedia.

Mr Sakura just shakes his head. “My Lord, you have the weirdest friends, Amamiya.” He then walks to the storage room, not wanting to be in the presence of his regular who nonchalantly talks about supposed wars while drinking.

“Even so, why should I care?” Ren replies, mixing up a new batch of alcohol. “ _Their_ conflicts don't affect the human world.”

“Even so, something just doesn't feel right.” Goro rubs his chin, deep in thought. “There's this indescribable feeling that's been bugging me for the past few weeks.”

“Princely intuition?” Ren teases.

His face grows tight. “I haven't been referred to that title for a very long time, and I don't want that to change.”

She giggles. “Have you noticed anything in your drinks lately?”

“No. And it's not like you to spike them for no reason. There's no motive.”

“That's cute. But what if I decided to spike it for no reason other than to make a fool out of you?”

“You're forgetting who you're speaking with.” He tucks a few locks of hair behind his ear, slowly, resting his head on his palm. “We can't get intoxicated, remember?”

 

* * *

 

 

Her female neighbours cannot stop talking to her about children. They say, with eager voices and proud faces:

 

My eldest son is a general in the army!

My Aiko is the most beautiful girl in the world!

All my children can walk at eight months!

What do you think your future child would be, Ren?

Oh, I’ve never thought about it, it’s too soon for a child.

 

Ren has daydreamed from time to time,  a mini version of her running around the house, making obnoxious sounds and creating a mess in their wake. Perhaps it’s maternal instincts that come prepackaged in the female body.

She doesn’t know much about babies other than the fact that their sole purpose is to replace the older generation. They are armed with big heads and round cheeks and small bodies which trigger a human’s protective instincts to ensure its survival (though she wonders why hundreds and thousands of babies are abandoned on the streets every day like garbage).

He has never given a second thought about children.

After all, there’s no reason to. Newborn Spirits do not take the form of mini Spirits, rather none at all. Instead they are raised in Incubators, to rest in a warm, enclosed environment till their physical forms begin to takes shape. All Circulators need to do is to monitor them and ensure that they do not malfunction--it’s the machine that takes care of them, not the Circulators.

But now that she has reincarnated into this body, in a strange and vague way, a few things slowly start to make sense. She knows why mothers love and sacrifice for their offspring unconditionally, and it’s not because of the fact that their purpose is to replace their parents one day (maternal instincts, if you may).

There’s a few kids playing tag in the park, two boys and one girl. They’re loud and rowdy and covered in dirt from falling over on the ground. Their mothers are huddled together on a wooden bench, gossiping and giggling to each other, almost everything that comes out of their mouth always turns to the topic of kids, _their_ kids.

After a while they run to their mothers, dirty and sweaty, and begin whining about how hungry they are. Speaking of which, she’s quite hungry as well.

 

* * *

 

  


 

 

For as long as he knew, he never believed in God.

While his family line had a long affiliation with churches and clergies, Ryuji is never the one to believe in a higher entity that can grant wishes and answer prayers (even if they did exist, they probably just ignore the offerings and sacrifices, why would they want to affiliate with a lower life form).

But here he is, standing in front of a church on a Saturday afternoon.

Located beside the road that connects the city and the forest, whenever there is some kind of occasion in town, it would be usually held at this church. Since there isn't anything in particular going on today, there's no one around.

He pushes the door of the chape. “Uhh, s’cuse me…”

The building is empty. Wouldn't the nuns still be here, considering it is still too early for it to be evening?

He approaches the altar, kneels down and brings his hands together. His Ma would often do this, kneeling in front of a small stone statue of God at their backyard. She said it brings her peace and calms her heart.

All of a sudden, he hears the sound of the door opening behind him. Has one of the nuns came back?

“Oh, hey.”

He cannot see them very well from his position. There is no reply; perhaps it's one of the townspeople that came to worship? He scoots his body towards them, and when he does, the figure leaning against the door walks towards him.

A woman with long, silver hair dressed in all black, with an appearance full of dignity. At first glance she seems like a regular human, but the dangerous aurora around her tells him otherwise.

“Have you finished your prayers?”

Her low voice echoes to the high ceiling. His entire body is paralysed in fear.

“Who… who the hell are you?”

“I’m what you humans call 'Spirits’. We are God's loyal servants.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

The woman huffs in annoyance. “While unfortunately I do not have a Persona to scare you with, I do believe you know of one Persona user yourself.”

He cannot believe his ears. His Ma had told him stories about Spirits and Shadows at bed time, but he never believes them to be real. There's no way this woman is an otherworldly being. All he can do is state back at her overwhelming presence.

“No?”

She frowns. “You don't remember? Well, no matter. I have something more important to tell you. It's about Ren.”

His eyes widen. How is she affiliated with this woman?

“At this rate, she cannot be saved. The same goes for you. Mementos cannot forgive her; and God won't turn a blind eye to her acts.”

“W-What the hell are you on about?” He yells, standing up. “Don't act like you know her!”

She narrows her eyes at him, giving him a disgusted look. “I should be telling you the same thing. Compared to me, you know nothing.”

“Shut up!”

“Look, there's no time! I'm here to save the both of you!” Her low, sharp tone has become more desperate, more urgent, and if she's trying to hide it by frowning, it isn't working.

“We don't need saving!”

“Please listen to me! Forget about her and go back to your own home!”

“Why the hell would I do that?!”

“Before they find out she's alive, before time runs out, dispose of all the evidence and brings things back to what they were before. If you do that, you should be able to keep your life.”

“What… do you mean?”

Ryuji's head is spinning--with strange words that came from the lips of a strange woman. Brings things back, but to where? The sin of betraying everything and eloping--is it a crime punishable by death?

Or, had she committed an even graver sin before they had met?

“The mere fact of you two being together is taboo. That is why I'm telling you to destroy all the evidence before that crime is judged. Do you understand?”

“Crime? Taboo? What--”

“Time is falling short. While you're standing there, they may find out and everything will be lost.”

The strange woman is becoming more irate with every second. What the hell does it all mean? Time being limited? They're taking Ren away to some place for her sins? Does it mean that she'll be saved, when she is supposed to go to Hell?

(But that means that he will be the only one that's safe. Even if both of them are just as guilty).

“Hell no!” His voice is firm and resolved, despite his body trembling.

“What did you just say?” She snaps, her voice soft but menacing.

“If Ren's guilty, then I am as well. If you're gonna punish her, then punish me as well!”

Ryuji doesn't care what becomes of him. Because if he can just be with her, if they can reaming together, any punishment, no matter how cruel, would be tolerable.

If he loses her, then he will have nothing (the thought keeps him up at night, and terrifies him so very much).

“You don't understand. Do you think she wishes the same?”

“But still, I don't wanna do that! Because…”

He tries to remember the short time that he had spent with her, all those times full of gentle warmth.

_“If you stay by my side forever, that's fine. I don't need anything else!”_

“Well… I love her, y'know?”

He loves her without knowing how, or when, or from where. He loves her simply, because he doesn't know any other way of loving but this.

“And she feels the same way. Even without asking, I know it. So uh… sorry for wasting your time, Ms Spirit, because the answer's no.”

The woman's face morphs into something warped and hideous, and Ryuji knows he messed up big time. To go against a servant of God, despite all her efforts to come and tell them a way in which they can be saved.

She stares at him for a second, two and three, as if to make sure he's really there.

And then she takes out a gun from her holster, pulling the trigger. It's the very same gun that Ren took with her during their hunting competition in the woods. The woman screams in frustration, his surroundings grow distorted and Ryuji--

 

Ryuji laughs.

 


	4. part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She chooses a memory of her and Ryuji and holds it close to her heart, like a naked flame, waiting for it to burn, but she feels nothing.

Her body shakes her brain awake like a toy rattle and darkness presses into her eyes. Where is she?

Her memories are like a jigsaw made of identical black pieces, until there is a flare of colours, words. An image flashes, then another.

That’s right. Ryuji was craving pork, so she went to the market to get some, only for them to tell her that it was all sold. But why is she here, in a supposed dark room? A kidnapping, perhaps?

It takes a while for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and she wishes she hadn’t. She’s in a rectangular room with a bed, a small table and a sink. On the table lays a gadget that she hasn’t set her eyes on in two years, a gadget that she never thought she would get to touch again.

 

A P.A.D.

 

No, this surely must be one of her nightmares again. All she has to do is close her eyes and think of her home, her bed, her lover, and everything will be okay. It always works.

The P.A.D switches on, the harsh white light illuminating the dark room. It taunts her, drawing her in like a moth to a lamp. 22:00 flashes on the screen.

Using his P.A.D as a torchlight, she sets it against the metal door, fumbling with the steel handle at the base as she tries his best to pull it up, her arms feeling as if they’ll be wrenched out of its sockets with enough effort. She tugs and pulls and screams but the door continues to remain bolted shut.

“Previously, on _Variety Tonight.”_ The volume of the P.A.D spikes, “Our lovely hosts have been talking about…”

“Well, I hate to complain,” a sweet voice says, “but lately I’ve been even more tired as usual. There’s just so much paperwork to be done!”

“It’s not just you, you know,” a second voice drawls, “the pesky Shadows are giving us so much stress, I haven’t had a proper break for months.”

“Let’s face it,” a third voice says, “until we can eradicate this world of them, no one in Mementos can ever catch a break.”

“Well isn’t that quite observant of you, Captain Obvious?” The sweet voice speaks up, “of course, that is to be expected of the dumbest of us siblings.”

“Hey!”

“And now, for today’s live show! Welcome to _Variety Tonight!_ ”

Ren stares at the screen, unable to peel her eyes away from it despite the panic that still courses through her body and the pain from kicking the door with her bare foot. The set is flashy and colourful, with bright bulbs being placed on any surface that fits.

“And here are your hosts! Elizabeth!”

The usual clapping track plays as she appears. She waves enthusiastically at the camera, grinning ear to ear like a little girl in Wonderland. Her short hair bobs to her eccentric movements.

“Aaaaaand Margaret!”

Margaret struts onto the set, the _clink clank_ of her heels perfectly synchronised and her head held high. She is more mature and collected unlike her easily excitable sister, and she waves lazily at the camera, her white nail polish glinting under the bright lights.

“And lastly, Theodore!”

Theodore emerges from the backstage, smiling bashfully as if it were his first time on camera. He hurriedly makes his way to the leather purple couch at the round glass table.

“Welcome, everyone!” Elizabeth says, as Ren sighs in frustration as the cheering audience audio plays. There’s no way she’s listening to an entire program of this rubbish. She has an overwhelming urge to throw the thing against the wall and watch it shatter into a million pieces.

 

**“...Akira…”**

 

Her head jerks up, hoping someone might have come to rescue her, but she forgets that she’s no longer _him_ anymore, and of course the door remains closed.

 

**“...Akira…”**

 

She checks under the bed, using the P.A.D as a torch like she was a forty year old student and searching for monsters, but there’s nothing there.

 

**“...Akira…”**

 

Where are the voices coming from? There is no one else here. It’s only her and her laboured breathing and her thumping heart.

It’s coming from the P.A.D. She grabs it, desperate to find out why she’s trapped here, but the screen is still frozen on _Variety Tonight_ . She needs to switch it off, but the off button wouldn’t work, _it won’t work._

“He needs to be eliminated immediately. There is no tolerance for this sort of behaviour.”

“It seems the large majority agrees as well. All we have to wait for is our Master’s final decision.”

“But this Akira sounds dangerous.”

_But this Akira sounds dangerous. But this Akira sounds dangerous. But this Akira sounds dangerousBut this Akira sounds dangerousBut this Akira sounds dangerousBut this Akira sounds dangerous_

She is not Akira. She is Ren. Her name is Ren.

‘I’ve heard that...” Elizabeth says, Margaret barely suppressing a smirk, “apparently he’s fallen for a human.”

There is a gasp from the audience, and Margaret and Theodore look suitably stunned. But it can’t be, why are they talking about him? She can hear someone saying, ‘oh no, oh no, oh no...’ over and over again. She looks at the small mirror on the wall and realises its her mouthing the words frantically.

“Thank the Lord he’s being confined at present,” Elizabeth says, twirling her platinum blonde hair with her fingers. Confined. He’s being confined. _I’m being confined._ “I would hate for anything bad to happen to anyone, but it does seem much safer for him to be eliminated, out of harm’s way.”

“And that’s not all,” Margaret adds, as the other two shift in their seats, “apparently his Disciple, Ms Sae, was forced to take matters into her own hands.”

“In what way?” Theodore asks.

“She killed the human he was involved with. A clean bullet through the head.” Elizabeth makes a gun with her fingers and jerks it upwards, intimidating a firing.

“No!” Elizabeth squeals, pressing her hands to her lips.

No, no, this isn’t right. This is all made up to rake up views, nothing more. It’s not out of the question for them to exaggerate their stories to keep people interested.

“By the law, it states that without explicit permission from the Master, one isn’t allowed to interfere with the life and death of a human.” Theodore says as a matter of fact.

“ _Eeeexactly_.” Elizabeth nods firmly. “She is also in confinement at the present as well, though we’ll have to once again leave her sentence up to the Master.”

“It’s such a shame. Ms Sae is one of our best Disciples and leads the most prestigious unit. I certainly wouldn’t want her to retire early.” Margaret lets out a sigh, fiddling with her long, white nails.

“And to think all of this is for the sake of a soldier who doesn’t know his place!”

The injustice of not being able to explain or say anything renders her paralysed. She sits there, staring at the screen, watching as Akira’s life is dissected for the entertainment of the entirety of Mementos.

“He should have more control.” Theodore says, looking at the camera. For a moment she feels as if he can see her and she ducks out of view. There’s a loud ringing in her ears, drowning it all out, only a shrill _should have_ breaks the silence. _Should have, should have, should have…_

“It’s still unacceptable. All Spirits have extensive training in the correct behavioural procedures.”

“Will there be a trail?” Elizabeth asks.

“A trail? How far back are you?” Margaret exasperates. “They’ve stopped having those ever since the 26th War!”

“Those are fun. I miss the trail days.” Theodore adds, a hint of wistfulness in his yellow eyes.

“Even if he does have a trail, what will Akira’s defence be?”

“What defence?” Margaret exclaims. “He is a soldier. He is born to faithfully serve God and he has been trained for the last hundred years to perform and contribute to Mementos.” She’s nodding in agreement until she remembers it’s Akira they’re talking about. “Any deviation from that is unacceptable. Akira has failed his duty. He has no defence.”

There is a huge cheer, and the camera slowly zooms out of the set.

“Thank you for watching! Tune it tomorrow night at 10 p.m. for a brand new episode of _Variety Tonight!”_

The room is filled with cheery music. They seep in through her ears, swilling around the emptiness in her head before leaking out again.

The theme song of _Variety Tonight_ blasts out again. She can’t remember how to move her limbs; each one of them feels like a separate entity from the rest of her body, disconnected and unbearably weighted. She’s screaming to herself, but she can’t move.

“And now for the viewer’s comments. Thanks to all who called in today in unprecedented numbers!”

The screen crackles and a face appears, followed by another face and another and another. There are hundreds of them. Fighters, Circulators, Disciples and students alike. There’s even faces of her former friends, Ann, Makto, Yusuke, Haru, Futaba. And they all hate her.

“Disgusting… does he have no self control?”

“Watching this made me so mad!”

“I had bet with a couple of my friends on how long it’ll take for him to Fall.”

“He’s fucking nuts!”

“We all went through the school system and obeyed the rules. Who does he think he is?”

“I never knew he’d have the guts to do something like that.”

“I’ve heard that he’s hooked onto sleeping pills. Getting high off them messes with your head, huh.”

“I can’t believe that he’s only hundred and thirty. That’s so quick for someone to become a Lost.”

“I agree with the previous viewer. He’s got some balls!”

“He should have known better. It’s Ms Sae I feel sorry for.”

“What is it in humans he finds so special?”

She can’t turn it off. She’s shaking the P.A.D, pressing the off switch as hard as she can and muting the volume, but the comments keep coming. Every self doubt she’s had about herself, every whisper of self hatred that she’d buried deep inside of her is all spilling out of the mouths of her former comrades and friends.

Her stomach heaves and she can’t stop it either. Vomit fills her mouth, sputtering onto her lips, staining the white tiled floor, and she rushes to the sink, hunching over until she’s done. The smell overwhelms her nostrils, spreading throughout the small, rectangular room, painting the walls in its stench.

* * *

 

  
  


 

 

> As a soldier, I must be obedient
> 
> As a soldier, I must be loyal
> 
> As a soldier, I must be fearless
> 
> As a soldier, I must be selfless
> 
> As a soldier, I must be devoted
> 
> As a soldier, I must be silent
> 
> As a soldier, I must sacrifice
> 
> As a soldier, I must not love
> 
> As a soldier, I must never doubt
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

> I give myself up for the good of the Lord. I give myself up for the good of my fellow comrades. I give myself up for the good of the world.
> 
>  
> 
> I do nothing but for the good grace of the Lord.
> 
> Bless our Lord, hath o our souls
> 
> Thank you my Lord, for your good grace.

 

* * *

 

  
  
  
  


 

This time, she wakes up in a dim blue office.

She’s lying on a soft, velvet couch, and she doesn’t want to wake up when she hears her serial number because she’s tired, so very tired.

“Good evening, #1120.” A deep, throaty voice speaks. “How are you feeling?”

“Shit.”

Igor chuckles. “That’s to be expected. It’s the first time since the 26th War that we’ve brought a Lost back to Mementos.”

She glares at him, unblinking and silent. She really wants to punch him in the face.

“I knew you would be awake, #1120.”

“Sleeping pill withdrawal.”

“I knew you would be awake,” he says again, as if she hadn’t spoken. “And do you know why?” He peers at her across the dimly lit room. “ _Do_ you?”

“No.”

“Because I know _you_. I always have.” She waits, unsure of how to respond. “I know your exact eye colour and the texture of your hair. I know what your strengths and weaknesses are. Obviously, I know about your rebellious streak. I know who you always hang out with. I know how much humans interest you. I’ve been trying to crush it out of you for years, though it doesn’t help that I assigned you as a Fighter, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been doing this for a long, long time, you know,” he continues, gripping the armrests of his chair tightly. “I’ve been doing this job ever since the first Spirits were created.” There’s something glinting in his eyes but she can’t make out what. “Yet I still remember the day when you and your siblings were born.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” he says. “I was observing the new batch of students, looking at each new face. And there you were, your face screwed up, making so much of a commotion, drawing the attention all to yourself.” He adjusts his glasses. “If my instincts were right, and they are always right, you were the runt of the litter, the one who wouldn’t withstand the race. There’s always one in every new batch, a Spirit that has a little ‘accident’, then another then too many accidents to ignore and they have to be sent to Quarantine, to help the Circulators with their studies. Waste not, want not.” She swallows hard. “But not you, #1120. Because Sae-- wonderful, brilliant, stupid Sae--took a shine in you, didn’t she? And that changed everything.”

“Really?” Her voice is small, like a little girl’s.

“Why, of course she did.” Igor says the words plainly, and hearing them, she knows deep within her that he’s telling the truth.

“And with her love came protection. It was all so _infuriating._ I could barely stand to look at you, as with each passing year you continue to undermine the natural order of things with your very existence. And then on your first mission you broke the rules so flagrantly. It was really deliciously stupid of you, #1120.” His lips tighten. “But once again, Sae fought for you, fought for your own battles. For the first couple of months I was quite annoyed, but I trusted my instincts and I waited. If I just waited, you would've ruined it all by yourself.” He starts to slow clap. “And you did, #1120. _Spectacularly_ so, well done.”

“Why… why are you telling me all this?” She asks, feeling herself losing her voice with every word until she's gone and everyone will forget that she exists.

“Why?” He raises an eyebrow at her. “Hmm, yes, I have to agree with you. I _am_ speaking with you more freely than I ordinarily would, even with my fellow Velvet attendants. It's all irrelevant though, isn't it? You won't be able to tell anyone any more tales where you're going.”

She turns her face away from him.

“Oh dear, you're not going to cry, are you #1120?” His eyes flicker with excitement as he leans closer to her, coming closer and closer, as if he wants to lick the very first teardrop, taste the saltiness on his lips.

There are no tears left in her. There is nothing left.

“Now that's more like it.” He says when she remains dry eyed. “At least there's one thing you can do right.”

Igor pushes himself out of his chair and walks towards the back of the office, beckoning her to follow.

“Come now, #1120. We don't have all day.”

He leads them to a glass coffin shrouded in shadows, takes a P.A.D out of his pocket and presses a few buttons on the screen, and the doors open.

“For what?” She asks, but she steps in anyway. She doesn't really care what happens to her anymore. The doors close as they stare at each other through the panes of glass.

“To be of use,” he says as the elevator descends, maintaining eye contact until he disappeares behind a wall of steel.

The elevator keeps descending down and down and down and for a moment she thinks he's sending her back to the human world. But even then, there's no point in going back. The doors open to another room that she has never seen before, a waiting room of sorts. Wrought iron chairs, grey concrete floor and steel plated walls.

The buzzer on the wall shrieks, and she moves towards it, involuntarily. She walks into a corridor that seems to go on forever until the path drops and there's a short flight of stairs, the darkness deepening and threatening to swallow her alive. She holds onto the metal handrails that are cold to the touch for guidance until she sees a crack of light before her. It's seeping out from underneath a door and she stumbles towards it, patting the wall until she finds the handle.

She blinks when her eyes are assaulted by white, white, _white._ When she adjusts to the glare, she can see that it's a laboratory, about the same size as the Assembly Hall.

One wall is made up of steel shelves lined with glass jars, and in each of them what looks to be a tiny carcass of a pig is floating in some sort of liquid. Lining the other wall are glass boxes, each containing a naked human, or where they Spirits (it's hard to tell like this since they look so similar in appearance)? They're bald, held in a standing appearance by black belts securing their feet, waist and head. The left box is filled with the same liquid as the jars of animal carcasses, the subject curled up in a fetal position with red wires wrapped around their bodies like bulging veins.

“Hellooo, I've been expecting you!” A girl approaches her, her overly cheery voice grating her ears. Unlike the Spirits on the surface, she's in all white and has a surgical mask covering her face. “#1120, isn't it?”

She can't move.

“Stop wasting our time,” another Spirit, a male this time. “You want to help us with our research, don't you?” He walks towards her, snapping white gloves on. _Snap. Snap._

She looks at the bodies in the clear boxes. Some of them look familiar, evoking memories of failing grades and raucous behaviour, dropped trays in the canteen, raised voices yelling at Disciples.

_“No matter how close spirits are to one another, their highest priority is always God. Those that cannot do so are sent to Quarantine.”_

_“Always be on your best behaviour. _You don’t want to get sent to Quarantine, do you?”__

Ren should be afraid, but all she feels is emptiness and the disappointment of death being out of her reach.

“I heard all about Ms Sae and that human she killed. Saw it _all_ on _Variety Tonight_.” The female researcher pipes up and the male researcher inches closer to Ren. She doesn't want to think of them. She is tired, so very tired.

“This won't hurt, I assure you, you won't feel a thing.”

“I want to die.”

“Nonsense. I'll keep you alive if it's the last thing I do. But I don't think there's much difference, is there? You can say that it'll feel like nothing.”

She holds up her arm, offering herself to him. The needle sinks into her skin. She can feel it burning through her, whispering _forget, forget, forget_ into her blood.

 

And she feels nothing (it's the same as death, really).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unsatisfactory ending is unsatisfactory (and rushed otl)  
> thats' where the extra endings are going to come in! they arent written yet, but soon i will.
> 
> a couple more thank yous:
> 
> my bff, glitch, for encouraging me and complimenting my little snippets i send her even though she isn't in the fandom  
> my last brain cell, for not abandoning ship like all the others did :'(  
> my pet hamsters, klaus, pancake and cheesecake for existing  
> and you! thank you for reading!


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